You Want Me to Do What?
by jamesandlilypotter81
Summary: Seven years after Voldemort's defeat, Harry is beginning to think that he'll never feel excitement again—that he's way past his prime. So when Hermione asks him for a favor, he immediately accepts without a second thought. Of course, he should have known his tendency to jump into situations blind would be the end of him…
1. You Want Me to Do What?

Chapter One- "You want me to do _what_?"

Harry's eyes were fixed at the point, his mind only on his aim. This was life and death; a simple mistake could destroy him forever. With one last deep breath, he shouted the spell and watched carefully…cursing when his best mate fell to the floor laughing, and his crumpled up piece of paper missed the point on the wall entirely.

"Take a shot, Harry!" Ron said, his laughter nearly making his words unintelligible. And being drunk didn't help matters either.

"Oh, shut it," Harry muttered, taking a shot of firewhiskey, barely feeling the burn anymore. That had stopped many shots ago. When Ron just laughed again, Harry kicked him. "Now your turn. Think you can do better?" Ron rolled his eyes.

"Watch a master at work," he muttered, pointing his wand at his crumpled up piece of paper and taking aim. However, before he could do anything else, the doorbell rang, causing them both to groan. "Ignore it, Harry," Ron said with a shake of his head.

"It might be Luna."

"Oh, _Merlin_, I hope not." Harry chuckled lightly, but stood up and went to the door of his flat, opening it slightly. He immediately had to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, but he didn't need to see to know who was at his doorstep.

"Drunk again? It's only one o'clock!"

"Go away, Hermione," he answered wearily. He had heard this conversation before—several times, in fact—and he wasn't keen on hearing it again. But she just ignored him, pushing her way into his flat, giving Ron a disgusted look before turning back at him.

"You're playing that stupid game again, aren't you?" she asked bossily, much like a first year version of herself. He could almost see her in her Hogwarts robes, her hands on her hips, admonishing them for nearly getting her killed—or _worse_, expelled. However, the image faded as soon as it came, and Harry grinned at her.

"Don't know what you mean," he said, his grin fading when her eyes narrowed.

"Really? So you two nitwits aren't trying to throw a paper ball at a tiny dot on a wall that's across the room, knowing full well that you _will_ miss, which just gives you an excuse to get drunk? You're not playing that game?" She glared at him.

"_Oh_, you mean _that_ game," Ron said from his spot on the floor. Hermione turned to Ron, frowning at him.

"Luna came to see me. She wanted to know where you are. Said she hopes you're not with Harry, because if you are, she's going to make you wish you had never been born." Ron's eyes widened, but Harry felt rather annoyed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked just as Ron spoke:

"You didn't say anything, right?" he asked hurriedly, getting to his feet clumsily. Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron before turning back to Harry.

"She doesn't think you're a good influence on him. Which, honestly, is rather odd because we all always assumed that it would be the other way around. But, really Harry? What did you expect?" Harry looked at Hermione for a moment and then sighed. With a wave of his wand, he began to feel his head clear a bit, and without another word, he left the living room and headed towards the kitchen.

XXX

Hermione watched as Ron left Harry's flat in record time, all the while thinking.

Seven years had passed since Voldemort's demise, and things had changed quite dramatically in that time period. Ron was engaged to Luna, their wedding date sometime in the fall. The once obnoxious and insensitive redhead had grown up; he worked with George in the joke shop, and spent any free time he had helping out the Ministry in any way he could. After all, even though seven years had passed, there still was a great deal to get done.

Hermione, on the other hand, had a rocky start. Unlike Ron who had pushed the war completely behind him, she had suffered. She couldn't walk down the street without her hand on her wand, she always feared some sort of attack—even sleeping had become a difficult task. A great deal of guilt suddenly filled her as she remembered how she got over all of that in the first place.

Harry.

He spent every waking moment with her for the first two years after Voldemort's death. When she needed to go out, he was there, muttering calming words to her to ease her worry. And at night, when she didn't feel safe enough to sleep, he swore he'd stay awake and keep watch. It took months—years—but soon enough her paranoia ebbed, the dreams came less frequently, and sleeping became as easy as shutting her eyes.

Soon, she didn't need Harry's presence to feel safe, and she went to work, turning things that had once only been dreams into reality. She worked on house-elf rights, began weeding out corruption in the Ministry, became the youngest person to ever Head a department, and even began working on the prejudices against muggleborns. And while she had accomplished a great deal, she knew she had so much more to do—so much to do that she had practically abandoned the person who got her back on her feet in the first place.

As for Harry, well, he seemed to have lost that gleam in his eyes—the one he had when they discovered the Philosopher's Stone was in Hogwarts, or when he had finally defeated Voldemort. He became empty, lost all interest in working as an Auror, and hid away, drinking himself into a stupor. And the worst part of all that was Hermione didn't know how to help her best friend.

She winced as she turned to look at the door to the kitchen. She was presuming too much, coming here and asking for his help when she had given him none. But she hadn't known what else to do. He had always been the person she could fall back on. When she and Ron had broken up—a mere two weeks after the battle—she had turned to Harry for comfort. And when she had gone to Australia to bring her parents back—only to find that they didn't _want_ to come back—he had gone with her, refusing to let her go alone. While she'd never admit aloud, Hermione had desperately wanted him to come anyway. It was why she hadn't put up any sort of fight.

But now here she was, once again turning to Harry when she was in trouble. Though she felt guilty, though she didn't know how to ever repay him for everything he'd done, she couldn't deal with this issue on her own.

She needed him, her best friend, not this empty shell of a man that he had become. Perhaps if he actually put his mind to something the drinking would stop, and he'd start leaving his flat again. Maybe, just maybe, she could convince him to see reason—to see that he was throwing his entire life away…

She sighed, feeling selfish. She wasn't here to make him see reason. She was here because she needed his help. Sighing again—and feeling sick with herself—Hermione walked into the kitchen, hoping that he'd help her.

XXX

"Hermione, I'm really not in the mood for a lecture, so if you don't mind—" Harry began, only to be cut off by Hermione waving her hand impatiently.

"I'm not here to lecture you. I'm here because I need to ask you a favor. One that would require you to live with me for a period of time." She looked hopefully at him, and Harry realized she was waiting for an answer. He leaned back in his chair, his hands on the table. On the other hand, Hermione seemed too nervous to want to sit.

"Yeah, sure. What d'you need me to do?" For a moment, it didn't look like Hermione wanted to answer, but then she flung her arms in the air and cursed.

"My parents are coming home!" she said loudly, her voice full of…fear?

"That's a good thing, right?" Harry asked, unsure why Hermione seemed upset over something she had hoped for.

"Well, yes. But no, not really." She paused and gave him a shrug. "I did something stupid." At her words, Harry laughed, tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

Hermione Granger doing something stupid? He didn't think such a thing was possible. Merely the way she said it, as if it was some sort of death sentence, proved that it wasn't possible. She was too careful, too meticulous to ever do anything stupid.

"Oh, stop it, Harry. I'm serious! I did something stupid and I need your help."

"Alright, then. What'd you do?" Hermione winced.

"Well, you see, my parents started thinking, and they didn't like the fact I was a single young woman, living alone…silly things like that." Harry nodded, not quite sure where this was going, but he did feel this dread build up in his stomach. Somehow, he didn't think he'd like what was coming. "So, I may have said something in the heat of the moment, trying to make them understand I was perfectly fine."

"What did you do, Hermione," Harry asked, suddenly wishing he hadn't cast that Sobriety Charm on himself.

"I told them I was in a serious relationship, thus, I wasn't alone." Harry laughed, his worry washing away. This wasn't too bad. Actually, it was quite funny.

"You lied to your parents," he chuckled. "You haven't had a serious relationship since—well, I can't quite recall any serious relationships. Do you still write Krum?" Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"I've had plenty of relationships!" she protested, causing Harry to laugh again.

"Yes, perhaps with your job in the Ministry, but not with a person." He laughed again, ignored Hermione's not-so-happy look, and leaned forward. "So, what're you going to when your parents get here and there's no boyfriend?"

"There will be a boyfriend," Hermione said softly. Harry gave her a puzzled look before it dawned on him. "I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend while my parents are here for the next two weeks." Harry blinked.

"You want me to do _what?_"

"Don't be so dramatic," she said hurriedly, sitting down in the seat across from him, an anxious look on her face. "I know it's silly, and it's the last thing you want to do, but I didn't know what else to do!"

"How about telling them the truth?" Harry asked. Hermione waved her hand impatiently.

"No, I couldn't do that," she muttered. She looked straight into his eyes, obviously searching for his answer.

"So, how's this going to work, then?" he asked, wondering if he'd regret this later.

Two things in particular bothered him. One, he wasn't sure how Ron would react. His relationship with Hermione had always been somewhat rocky, and that hadn't changed after leaving Hogwarts. Even now, the two of them got into fights over the smallest things. Yet, despite that, Ron was also fiercely protective of Hermione. Harry worried that the redhead would come after him if he somehow botched this up.

The second thing that worried him was how little privacy he had since Voldemort's defeat. He didn't want Hermione to have to deal with nosy reporters like he did. It was why he had left the Ministry in the first place.

Harry sighed, wondering if Hermione knew what she was getting herself into, and if he had any idea either.

**Woot, new story! This will be short—not at all like my Lily/James story. It totally ignores the epilogue, but everything else is based off the books. It's set seven years after Voldemort's death, so Harry's twenty-four years old. **

**Let me know what you think!**


	2. Day One

Chapter Two- Day One

"It's only two weeks. Two weeks won't kill you," Hermione said almost testily, as she straightened the cushion of her armchair for the umpteenth time. Harry rolled his eyes at her words, but otherwise acted as if she hadn't even spoken.

"_No_ firewhiskey. You know, in come cultures that can be considered a form of murder." Hermione looked up at him, an odd expression on her face, as if she was torn between laughing and smacking him.

"Oh please, tell me more about these cultures."

"Well, you know…" He stopped and leaned against the doorway to Hermione's kitchen, watching her tilt her head as she studied the offensive cushion that _just_ _wouldn't_ stay the way she wanted. "They exist," he said stubbornly. Hermione did laugh this time, and she shook her head.

"It was your idea, Harry." He had to admit that was true. After explaining everything to him—basically something about how she tended to talk too much when she was angry—they began working out the details. Obviously, Harry had to live with her for the two weeks, but that wasn't a big deal. He had always had his own room in Hermione's home—well, her parents' home. What was a big deal was that for the two weeks her parents were visiting, he was to share a room _with_ her.

That was something that hadn't happened since before Voldemort's defeat.

For months on end, he, Ron, and Hermione had lived together in a tent, for the first time truly understanding what it meant to have no privacy whatsoever. By some sort of unspoken consent, after Voldemort's death, none of them entered the others' rooms. Thus, in those long months during which Hermione screamed throughout the night, reliving the horrors of Malfoy Manor, Harry had done nothing more but stand right at her door. Instead, he waited until the dreams passed, praying to whatever was out there that she wouldn't feel anymore pain, or have anymore nightmares. Praying that somehow he could take it from her. But he never entered her room. It was just something that wasn't done.

Something that still wasn't done.

Though he'd never admit aloud, he thought that his prayers had been answered. After a while, Hermione no longer screamed at night, but Harry had been unable to sleep. All he ever saw were images of death, of Colin, Fred, Remus, Tonks…and the list went on and on. Only the alcohol seemed to stop the dreams, stop him from waking up with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Of course, the alcohol also caused him to act rather…oddly.

His magic had always been somewhat strange considering his unique bond to Voldemort. But the alcohol made his magic erratic, and he'd wake up with broken lamps, or shattered windows. Frankly, he was dangerous. So he'd decided that he wouldn't quite like waking up one morning to find that Hermione had somehow turned blue and have to face her wrath just for the full nights sleep that firewhiskey provided.

That, and he didn't think her parents would appreciate a knowing that their daughter had a boyfriend who was dependent on alcohol just to fall asleep at night.

"When are they getting here?" Harry asked, wanting to end his train of thought and also wondering if he was supposed to start feeling nervous yet. He wasn't very thrilled to be seeing the Grangers. Not that he didn't like them; he thought they were wonderful. It was just that he was quite sure that Mr. Granger wouldn't be too happy with him. There was some sort of rule that fathers hated their daughters' boyfriends—even fake boyfriends, who at one time were quite liked by the father.

"Actually, they're running a bit late. They should have been here twenty minutes ago." Hermione stepped away from the armchair and studied it. Harry watched as she tilted her head to the right, and then to the left, all the while muttering something under her breath. He had to admit, the sight was rather amusing.

"Are you sure your dad won't murder me in my sleep?" he asked, nervously checking his watch and then looking towards the front door, as if it would open on its own accord and reveal the Grangers.

"Why would he? He likes you, Harry," Hermione said, her hands on her hips in a very familiar pose. Harry rolled his eyes and decided to voice the thought he had earlier aloud.

"Yes, but that was before I started dating his daughter. Now, he'd like nothing more than see me trip and fall on my own face."

"You know we're not actually dating, right?"

"_I_ know that, but _he_ doesn't, does he?" Harry answered flippantly, earning a glare from Hermione.

"It's not like I forced you into this, Harry." He frowned at her.

"Please, you knew very well I'd say yes no matter what."

"I did not!" she protested, a brief flash of guilt appearing on her face. It was Harry's turn to put his hands on his hips and give Hermione a look. He hoped she realized what he was going for.

"You asked me because I'm the only one insane enough to agree to something like this."

"Alright, first of all, don't _imitate_ me." Harry grinned, happy she had caught on. "That's just rude. And secondly, you never even bothered to listen to what I wanted in the first place. You just said yes!"

"You took advantage of my boredom!"

"You can't blame everyone else every time you don't stop to think!"

"Says the person who got into this whole mess _because_ she didn't stop to think!" Hermione opened her mouth to answer when the front door swung open. Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked at Harry and Hermione for a moment before Mrs. Granger let out an awkward laugh.

"Did we interrupt something?" she asked kindly. Harry turned red, wanting nothing more than to turn away, but he couldn't.

Mrs. Granger wasn't too tall or too short. She had the same brown hair as Hermione, though it cascaded down her back in gentle waves. She held herself in a manner that brooked no nonsense—something it seemed her daughter had inherited. One could say that Mrs. Granger was plain until you actually looked into her eyes.

It was astonishing to see Hermione's eyes staring back at him.

Harry chanced a quick glance at Hermione to make sure he wasn't just seeing things. The brown was bright with intelligence and life, looking as if it was ready to burst with all the secrets it held. For a moment, Harry was transfixed, wondering how he hadn't noticed how odd Hermione's eyes actually were…

"Harry, dear, are you quite alright?" Mrs. Granger asked, stepping forward. Harry jumped and nodded quickly, catching Hermione's glare out of the corner of his eye.

"The boy's nervous," Mr. Granger said with a laugh. "He's going to spend the next two weeks with his girlfriend's parents. Don't worry, son, I've been there too." Harry gave Mr. Granger an appreciative look, feeling guilty about the thoughts he had earlier.

Unlike his wife and daughter, Mr. Granger had blue eyes, graying hair, and a tall, lean frame. He looked athletic—something Hermione had definitely _not_ inherited—and he seemed joyful. Perhaps the next two weeks wouldn't be so bad…

"It's great to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Hermione's missed you very much." Immediately, he knew he had said the right thing. Mrs. Granger practically glowed at the words, and Mr. Granger gave him a nod and a grin.

He hadn't had any girlfriends after he and Ginny had fallen apart, so he didn't know how one was supposed to act, but he didn't think he was doing too badly so far.

"Please, call us Dan and Emma," Mrs. Granger said wit a bright smile before she pulled both him and Hermione into a tight hug.

"I'll take our bags up, shall I?" Mr. Granger—Dan—said with a grin. It was a clear dismissal for Harry, and he took the hint and shook his head quickly.

"Oh, no, I'll take care of it!" And with that, he grabbed their luggage and headed up the stairs, without once looking back.

XXX

"He's nervous enough as it is, Dad. You don't have to play mind games too," Hermione said the moment Harry was out of sight. Her father grinned.

"Maybe, but it's far more fun this way. Right Emma?"

"I don't know," her mum said slowly, giving Hermione a searching look. "It's not that I'm not thrilled for you, dear. I am. I love Harry and I think he's wonderful. But why keep your relationship secret from us for so long? You said it's been two years now." Hermione bit her lip and began silently praying that Harry would just man up and come back downstairs so she could get out of this conversation.

"Harry…" she began, cursing the savior of the wizarding world's cowardice, "is constantly being followed by reporters and such. He was just trying to protect me. You're the first people we've told about our relationship." Her dad looked convinced, but her mum nodded in that way that clearly said she was suspicious and wasn't at all pleased with the answer.

"The two of you were arguing before we walked in."

"Every couple argues, mum," Hermione said between clenched teeth.

"What do you and Harry argue about?"

"That's private, Mother," Hermione said angrily. She was about to say something else when Harry finally appeared by her side. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and the simple gesture comforted her somewhat.

"Hermione and I argue about a lot of things, Mrs. Granger. The one you heard just before you came in was my fault. I had the nerve to imitate her." Harry turned to Hermione and grinned. "Won't make that mistake again." It was then that her father clapped his hands together and smiled widely at them.

"Who's up for a spot of tea?"

XXX

"So last I heard, you were dating Ginny Weasley," Dan said as he sipped his cup of tea and leaned forward in his chair. They were sitting around the table in Hermione's kitchen, and had been engaged in a lovely companionable silence until this question ruined it all. Hermione gave her father a look, but Harry realized exactly what this was: an interrogation. He had been a fool to think spending two weeks with the Grangers would be fine.

"Harry doesn't like talking about it," Hermione said, a statement that was clearly just for him. It was her way of saying that he had the right to not answer. Harry was touched, but not because she was offering him an out. He had never told her why he and Ginny had fallen apart. He hadn't told anyone for that matter. What made him feel touched was that she was unwilling to compromise his privacy, even if it meant her parents becoming very suspicious. He smiled slightly.

"It's fine, Hermione," he said softly before turning back to Dan. "I've never been normal, Mr. Granger, but after the War, I thought I'd have a chance at it for once. So I started dating Ginny, and things were fine for a while. But one day I just realized I was faking it."

"Faking it?" Mrs. Granger repeated, while Hermione nodded along, as if she already knew this story. Harry had to admit, she was a great actress.

"I had issues that she couldn't handle. She couldn't understand why I went to see Teddy everyday, or why I visited the graves of all those who died at least once a month. So I stopped talking about it. Instead, I tried to be what I thought she wanted me to be. I was faking it." Harry turned to look at Hermione, surprised to see the sadness on her face. "We didn't break up. We sort of just drifted apart, and one day, we realized we weren't going anywhere."

"And you and Hermione?" Mr. Granger asked, her eyes fixed on Harry. Suddenly, he felt a great deal of annoyance, and he wanted nothing more than to take a walk.

"If anyone can understand what I went through, it's Hermione. And that's because I dragged her along with me." He stood up, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I need some fresh air." He had thought he was being obvious—that they all knew he wanted to be alone—but Mr. Granger stood as well and gave him a nod.

"I'll join you. It's stifling in here."

"Uh…sure." Harry wasn't positive, but he thought that for a second there was a look of panic on Hermione's face. He very nearly shuddered. She was absolutely right to panic; he was probably going to say something stupid. But rather than find an excuse and get away from Dan Granger, Harry followed him outside, breathing in the cold January air.

For a while, they just walked along the garden that Hermione so ardently attended to—mostly because of all the magical plants she had added over the years—and were utterly silent. But then, Mr. Granger stopped, giving him a curious look.

"You're not with Hermione because you feel guilty, are you? For everything she went through because of you?" Harry blinked, his brain suddenly shutting down. No one—_no one_—was that succinct with him. He didn't think anyone had just gone to the point without bothering with subtly when they wanted information from him. So rather than answer, his mouth opened and closed like a stupid looking fish, all the while thinking about how much the Grangers probably hated him for jeopardizing their daughter's life. Mr. Granger, of course, merely waited for an answer.

"N-no! No, not at all!" he finally managed, hoping that would be the end of that.

"Well, what's the hold up? You've been together for two years! Are you _ever_ planning on proposing?" _Proposing_? Harry shivered, hoping that Mr. Granger would chalk it up to the cold.

"Mr. Granger, don't you hate me?" Harry said, mostly to avoid the _proposal_ topic than because he actually wanted to discuss how his fake girlfriend's father felt about him. Surprisingly, Dan Granger looked shocked.

"Hate you? Why in the world would I hate you?"

"Because of everything Hermione went through because of me?" he answered, repeating Mr. Granger's words from before.

"I might not know much about this War. And I might not know the extent of the role you played. But I know my daughter, and I know there was no way she'd do something she didn't _want_ to do." Mr. Granger gave him a smile. "So, are you ever going to propose, or are you just stringing her along?" The smile was gone by the end of the sentence, and Harry felt his eyes widen. He'd faced Voldemort and Death Eaters galore, but all of that paled in comparison to what Mr. Granger might do to him if he ever found out all of this was just a sham…

"Of course I was planning to propose. I was just waiting to ask for your blessing first." Mr. Granger's smile returned and he reached out to pat Harry on the shoulder, ignoring Harry's flinch.

"Good boy," the older man said pleasantly, sounding like he was speaking to a dog. Harry tried to smile, but he thought it came out as a grimace.

Great, that was all he needed, for Mr. Granger to think he was insane.

XXX

"Hermione, they _know_. I swear, they _must_ know," Harry whispered furiously, as he washed the dinner dishes. Her parents had gone to bed early, stating that they were exhausted from the flight, and neither Hermione or Harry had put up much a fight.

"How can they know?" she asked patiently, putting the towel she was using to dry the dishes down. Harry had wanted to do the chores with magic, but Hermione had refused, saying something silly about how the work calmed her down.

"Your dad asked me if I was planning to propose after two years of dating or if I was just stringing you along."

"What did you say?"

"That I was waiting for his blessing, but that's not the point—"

"Ooh, that's a good answer. I'm impressed, Harry." For a moment, Harry just stared at her, but then he shook his head incredulously.

"Good answer? He expects me to _propose_, Hermione! _Propose_." Hermione looked at him and sighed.

"You're right, this isn't funny. Not at all." She stopped and let out a few chuckles before composing herself. Of course, the composure didn't last long. She started laughing again, and soon it became infectious. Despite the fear and worry gnawing at him, Harry began to laugh as well.

"You know," Harry said without thinking, once their laughter had died down and both of them had gone back to work, "if you were anyone else I think I'd walk away at this point. But getting married to you? It doesn't sound too bad." Had he turned his head to look at Hermione, he'd see that all the levity was gone from her features, to be replaced by a look of shock.

He would also see that look of shock eventually fade away, a warm smile taking its place.

**Well, here's chapter two. Hope you liked it! **


	3. Day Two

Chapter Three-Day Two

_Harry was quite still, afraid to even breathe. It was hot under the Invisibility Cloak, and he wanted nothing more than to throw it off him and rush forward, to prove that his Headmaster was not alone and defenseless. But he couldn't move. He couldn't move because the last spell Dumbledore cast before being disarmed was to ensure that Harry wouldn't be found._

_He watched in horror as Dumbledore begged Snape, watched as the Potions Master's face twisted into a look of hatred, watched as Dumbledore was hit with a blinding green light…watched as his Headmaster, his guide, his mentor fell…_

His eyes shot open and he twisted so violently that he ended up falling on the floor, face first. The alarm clock on Hermione's nightstand read that it was just past three in the morning, and Harry found himself growling angrily—immediately silencing himself when he heard a soft snore from Hermione from across the room.

It had been…awkward, to say the least, when the two of them had realized they couldn't stay awake all night. Harry had closed his eyes when he had entered Hermione's room, and he hadn't opened them even after she laughed. He had waited nervously by the door for several minutes before he walked to the opposite side of the room—his eyes still closed—and conjured a small bed for himself. Then, without bothering to ask if his actions were in any way offensive to Hermione, he had murmured a goodnight and drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

Of course, it wasn't as if his dreams could lay off one night so he'd actually get some rest. He groaned, realizing this was the fourth time he had woken up.

In his first dream, he had relived Voldemort's return, watching Cedric die all over again. In his second, his mind kept replaying Sirius's fall through the veil over and over again. In the third, he saw Hermione being tortured by Bellatrix, and then watched as people he cared for died during the battle…

Harry sat up and stared at the blank ceiling. He knew Hermione's room very well by now—he had spent more time studying it than he had spent sleeping. One wall was completely covered by bookcases filled with all sorts of books—muggle, magical, anything really. It didn't look like Hermione was too picky. There was her bed and nightstand, and a desk that had books and parchment stacked all over it, something she had tried putting away the moment he entered her room—he had his eyes closed, but he wasn't deaf!—which meant he clearly wasn't meant to see it. Most of the papers seemed not to be work related, and Harry knew that Hermione had a room that she had converted into a study, but he hadn't been brave enough to go see what his best friend had been writing about despite knowing she was hiding something from him.

She had respected his privacy the day before, so he could do the same for her.

The entire room was simple and waste-free. There were no superfluous furniture or items. Everything had a place, and everything had a purpose. It all just screamed 'Hermione' and Harry couldn't help but smile a little.

Soon after the battle, _The Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ had started printing again, and it had seemed, exclusively on Harry Potter. Wild stories about who was in his life and who wasn't, his relationships, and what he planned on doing now that his destiny had been fulfilled were printed each day. As if it was important if he was dating anyone! As if there was no other purpose in his life other than defeating Voldemort!

At first, he had tolerated the stories, deciding people needed something silly to talk about instead of dwelling on all those who had been lost. But then the stories began to also target Ron and Ginny—even as a prominent part of the Ministry, Hermione hadn't been spared, and it was then that Harry drew the line.

But there wasn't anything he could do. And slowly, he stopped going to Quidditch games with Ron so he could avoid the press. He quit his job as an Auror, gave up on dating—all because he was hounded by Rita Skeeter clones every minute of the day.

He realized that he had very little to smile about lately. He had no job, no purpose, no motivation to actually do something with his life. So he was grateful to Hermione. He didn't think she realized how much he needed this—actually doing something. It was exciting, that prospect of being figured out, or the challenge that lying to her parents provided.

Harry looked towards Hermione's bed and stared at her in the dark—unable to see anything but a lump. And he smiled again.

XXX

Harry leisurely took a sip of his tea as he listened to the sizzle of the cooking bacon. He had been unable to go back to sleep after waking up the fourth time, and decided that watching Hermione sleep till morning was strange and not at all appropriate. So he had grabbed a random book from Hermione's extensive collection and had gone downstairs.

Lucky for him, the book was in English and not something absurd like Runes. Unfortunately for him, despite getting about a quarter of a way through it, he still wasn't quite sure what it was about. In the beginning, it had focused on the mechanics of spell casting—why wand motions were necessary, how silent casting worked, etc.—but then it had suddenly moved on to wandlore. He had supposed Hermione had gotten it to learn more about the way his wand and Voldemort's wand were connected—she had seemed fascinated by the whole thing when he first explained what little Dumbledore had told him—but then the book went on to talk about goblins, and Harry had just given up. Whatever the book was about, he no longer cared. So he put it down and settled with making everyone breakfast.

This was something he was good at, he thought smugly. Defeating Dark Lords and cooking were his specialties, and while he didn't think there would be another Dark Lord anytime soon—though he was ashamed to admit he had hoped for one in his darkest of hours—he would always have to cook. He grinned slightly before standing and piling all the bacon on a plate and moving on to the eggs.

Then again, this was easy.

His dark mood returned and he sighed. What had Dumbledore done after defeating Grindewald? You know, other than being known as the greatest wizard since Merlin? Harry didn't think it was quite fair. He'd wager that defeating Voldemort was far more difficult…

"Ah, Harry! You're up! Good morning!" Harry nearly winced. It was too early in the morning for someone to be so chipper. It just wasn't right. But he forced a smile and turned to look at Mr. Granger.

"Good morning, sir. You slept well?" Of course the man had. He was practically glowing from all the sleep he had. Compared to Dan Granger, Harry probably looked like a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

"Yes. It's nice to be back here again."

"I'm sure it is. You've been away from home for quite a while." Rather than respond, Dan just gave him a funny look before turning to look at the bacon.

"Mmm, bacon. Emma doesn't approve of it, says I'm going to have a heart attack." Harry's eyes widened and he felt his heart beat faster, knowing that he didn't want to make Mrs. Granger upset.

"I can make something else. What does she approve of?" he said hurriedly, only to be laughed at.

"Settle down, son. No worries. Emma will be too busy bragging that her daughter's boyfriend can cook something to fret about some bacon." Harry nodded uneasily, but was spared when Hermione walked into the kitchen, her eyes narrowed. She gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek before pointing at Harry with an accusing finger.

"Where is it?" she demanded. Harry frowned.

"Where's what?"

"My _book_." For the second time that morning, Harry's heart began to race. He pointed to the table, where the book was resting innocuously. Hermione snatched it up, glared at him again, and hugged it to her chest.

"It's only seven-thirty, and you've already upset her, Harry. I think that may be a record," Mr. Granger said jovially, as if Harry upsetting Hermione was the best thing to ever happen to him.

"I wasn't going to _burn_ it, Hermione. I couldn't sleep, so I was reading it. Besides, the book is all hogwash anyway."

"It's not _hogwash_," Hermione said indignantly, making Harry feel stupid for using the word 'hogwash,' "it's a very rare book on how magic is used by different magical creatures." Harry laughed.

"Ohh, well that explains so much," Harry laughed, instantly stopping when he saw the look on Hermione's face. "Look, I made breakfast," he said, pushing the plate of bacon towards her. A reluctant looking smile appeared on her face.

"And it takes him five minutes to calm her down! Now _that's _a record," Mrs. Granger said triumphantly as she walked into the kitchen. "He can cook, too. How I wish you were around when I was younger…" Mr. Granger frowned, and Harry felt his cheeks heat up. Rather than respond and get himself into trouble with Hermione's father, he turned away from all three Grangers and busied himself with setting the table.

Throughout the meal, Harry listened to Hermione chat away with her parents, only saying anything if he was asked a direct question. He was tired. All he wanted was to sleep…

_The forest seemed darker than normal once his parents, Sirius, and Remus faded away. How he wished they'd stay with him! His mind was full of dozens of thoughts, ranging from how he wished he had said goodbye, to how betrayed he felt by Dumbledore. Of course, he understood why. He understood that it made more sense. But at the same time, he wished so desperately that it wouldn't make sense. That he'd wake up to find that he wasn't a Horcrux, that Voldemort had never killed his parents—that all this was just some sick, twisted, never-ending nightmare. _

_He was in the clearing. Voldemort was saying something, but Harry could only see his mouth open and close. And then Voldemort was raising his wand…for a moment Harry wondered if Sirius was being honest, if dying really was as easy as falling asleep…_

"Harry, are you alright?" He looked up in shock and realized he'd been dozing off. His elbow was resting in his eggs, and his cup of tea had shattered. Harry stared at the remnants of the cup, and he shuddered. Without answering, without bothering to speak at all, her stood and left the kitchen, heading to the garden where he and Mr. Granger had spoken the day before.

It was happening again.

XXX

"I'll be right back," Hermione said, standing up as well. Her mother let out a sound of protest.

"Perhaps Dan or I should speak to him?" she said hesitantly. Hermione shook her head.

"No. He needs me."

She found him sitting on the cold ground, staring up at the sky, his fingers nervously tapping the grass beneath him. Wordlessly, she sat next to him, casting a quick spell to keep them warm.

"I'm being rude, I know," Harry sighed after several minutes of silence. Hermione shrugged.

"I think they understand. And if they don't, well, who cares?" Harry looked at her, and she noticed that they were red—as if he'd been crying.

"I'm botching this whole thing up. What if they make you leave, Hermione? What if they take you to Australia?" His voice was so earnest, so full of fear, that Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him the obvious answer: that she was an adult and her parents couldn't exactly force her anywhere. They could make her life a hell, they could annoy her till she gave in—but force? No.

"You're not botching anything up, Harry. My mum already loves you, and my dad will come around. He's just being stubborn because he finds it funny. Are you going to tell me what's wrong? I know my parents aren't bothering you this much." Harry frowned and then closed his eyes.

"I'm fine," he said softly. Hermione tried to ignore the sting of hurt at his words, but it was hard. No matter what was going on in his life, Harry had always confided in her. He could talk to her, let her know how he felt. But thinking on it now, she realized that it had been years since the two of them had been close enough to talk that way. And that knowledge just _hurt_.

"Well, then I'll just—"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, "do you still have dreams?"

"Voldemort-related?" He nodded. "No. I haven't had any in a long time. Why? Are you still having them?"

"You know, I think I'll teach your dad how to fly. It should be fun." He smiled at her, and stood up, holding his hand out for her. Hermione stared at it for a moment, and then she stood up on her own.

"Yes, I'm sure it will be."

XXX

"No, Mr. Granger! Don't go higher! Tilt down. Down!" Harry watched in horror as Mr. Granger let out some sort of maniacal laughter before heading even higher in the air. "Mr. Granger! Hermione will kill me!" Harry yelled, once again answered by the older man's chuckles.

"Stop being such an old coot, Harry!" Harry's eyes widened. Old coot? _Old coot?_ He was no _old coot_. Without another word, Harry mounted the broom and kicked off into the air, hovering near Mr. Granger's head. "Now that's more like it, son!" Mr. Granger said happily.

"How about a race to that tree over there? Loser buys lunch?" At his words, Mr. Granger's eyes gleamed with excitement.

"All right, _boy_, you're on. Are you ready?"

"One…"

"…two…"

"Three!" They yelled together, both of them shooting off into the distance, Mr. Granger laughing the whole way.

XXX

"You can stop laughing, Mr. Granger. I let you win."

"Of course you did. All three times, right?" Harry sighed, and gave Mr. Granger a shrug.

"I lent you the better broom. Technically, I let you win."

"Of course, of course. Thanks for the lunch, by the way." Harry laughed at that, watching Mr. Granger eat his fish and chips enthusiastically.

In all honesty, spending the day with Mr. Granger so far had been fun. Because he worked with George now, Ron had very little time to spend with Harry. Any time they did spend together was now used playing that 'stupid game' as Hermione called it. Harry played because he wanted to forget; Ron played because he needed something to laugh about. This meant, of course, that he hadn't had fun in a very long time. It was odd that it was Mr. Granger who changed that—it was odd how much he was enjoying a simple lunch.

"So Harry, you want to tell me how you and Hermione met?" Harry blinked at the sudden change in subject. He wondered how long Mr. Granger would play this game with him—acting all chummy one moment before turning into a nightmare the next.

"Well, at Hogwarts."

"Really?" Harry frowned, now wondering if Mr. Granger was just taking the mickey.

"Yes. Well, I met her on the Hogwarts Express. But we were sorted in the same House and became friends."

"How did you become friends?"

"Ron and I saved her from a troll. Granted, it our fault she was stuck with the troll in the first place…" Harry trailed off at the look on Mr. Granger's face. "Didn't you know all this?"

"Well, yes, but I—I've never heard anyone speak so calmly about saving someone from a troll." Harry laughed at that.

"The three of us dealt with much more dangerous things than a troll, Mr. Granger." Suddenly, a look of intense sadness appeared on Mr. Granger's face.

"You know, Harry, Hermione's told us quite a bit about your 'adventures.' You are a very brave young man." Harry shook his head.

"I'm a very hotheaded and lucky young man, Mr. Granger. Did Hermione also tell you how I couldn't have done any of it without her help?" The older man shook his head.

"She refused to talk about anything that concerned her. Only talked about you. And Ronald." Harry leaned slightly forward.

"Without Hermione, I'd be dead. She's the reason I even reached the Philosopher's Stone in first year. She's why I knew the monster in the Chamber was a basilisk. She helped me save my godfather in third year, and it was _Hermione _that kept me alive during the Tournament. I could go on, but I think you get the point." Mr. Granger nodded.

"Is that why you tried so hard to help her once the war was over?" The question shocked Harry into answering honestly.

"Yes and no." He forgot that he was supposed to be pretending to be Hermione's boyfriend of two years. He forgot that this was her father he was speaking to. The question took him off guard and he wanted nothing more than to answer it. "I wanted to help her because she had always been there for me. I couldn't let her suffer knowing it was my fault. But at the same time, _I_ wanted to be the one there for her—to be the one person she could rely on. I love Hermione, Mr. Granger."

"Oh?"

"Well, I've always loved in her some way. She's my best friend. You don't have see someone in a romantic light to love them. I've always loved her."

"So it was only natural to move on to a romantic love?" Harry blinked, wondering if this was a trick question.

"I don't know if it was natural. It just sort of happened." Whatever answer Mr. Granger expected, it obviously wasn't that one, because he looked utterly confused. He stared at Harry for a moment and then nodded.

"So you love her." It was a statement, not a question, and suddenly it was Harry's turn to be confused. Yet, he responded anyway.

"Yes, I love her."

XXX

The rest of the day passed rather quickly. After their lunch and very important conversation, Harry and Mr. Granger returned home to find that Hermione and her mother had spent the day baking sweets—something Hermione said she hadn't done since she was a little girl. Harry, of course, became incredibly excited, and began tasting everything in sight, especially savoring the treacle tart.

In return for the sweets, Harry and Mr. Granger decided to take care of dinner, ending up arguing over what seasoning should go on the fish. After ten minutes of the two of them going back and forth, Harry was kicked out of the kitchen, Mrs. Granger taking his place.

After an uneventful dinner, Harry and Hermione washed the dishes like the night before, though they did it in silence. He had noticed Hermione acting frostily toward him all day, but he hadn't said anything. He couldn't really blame her for being upset.

Yet, despite that thought, Harry didn't last the rest of the night. He finally spoke up while Hermione was getting ready for bed.

"Why are you mad?"

"I'm not mad."

"You are. I can tell because every time you look at me, your eye twitches."

"My eye does _not_ twitch." Harry raised an eyebrow once she turned to look at him, her eye twitching. "Oh, shut up." Harry took a deep breath and then let his words tumble out:

"I'm having dreams. All the time. I see Voldemort every night." Hermione's frown turned into a sympathetic look and she took a step closer to him.

"You've always had dreams. Are these worse? Different?" Harry felt the urge to just turn around and leave. He didn't need someone dissecting the dreams. He needed support, a friend. Not an analysis.

"I can't control my magic," he said tightly. Hermione's brow furrowed, and it was clear she was deep in thought.

"Well, it could—" Finally, he had enough. Fear, worry, and his exhaustion became too much to handle.

"You know what, Hermione? I think I'll sleep downstairs. Wouldn't want my magic to get out of control and hurt anyone, now would I?" he said testily.

"Great, it's fifth year all over again!" Hermione shot back. Harry ignored her and went downstairs, not noticing Mrs. Granger standing in the hallway, staring at his back in shock.

**Here's chapter three! Anyway, this chapter is in honor of Rowling's new book—I'm really hoping it's good. Also, to anyone who's wondering, let's just assume Harry found an unpopulated stretch of land where he taught Dan how to fly. **


	4. Day Three

Chapter Four- Day Three

"Harry, dear, as much as I appreciate listening to you sing under your breath, I haven't heard this song in ages, and I'd really like to hear it," Mrs. Granger said pleasantly, smiling at him. Mr. Granger snorted.

"By that she means you can't sing, son, and she'd like you to shut up," he said. Harry immediately stopped his humming and felt his cheeks heat up.

The day hadn't been going very well. In anticipation of her parents' trip, Hermione had taken two weeks off of work, deciding before she had even asked Harry for his help—so she couldn't have known he'd say yes—that he'd somehow botch everything up by being left alone with her incredibly suspicious and oddly nosy parents. But she had received an urgent call that morning, and when Harry woke up, he had found a note stuck to his forehead explaining where she had gone and reminding him to be on his 'best behavior.'

Of course, things went wrong right away. First, Mrs. Granger had seen him walking to the bathroom with the note on his forehead, and she had asked if Hermione was upset with him. He had to invent a lie on the spot, explaining it was a joke between him and Hermione, something Mrs. Granger hadn't seemed convinced about. It was then that he decided to send Hermione an owl about their fake joke—just in case Mrs. Granger accosted Hermione before he had the chance to tell her about it.

Then, after breakfast, Mr. Granger had wanted to go see what had become of his practice—something he and his wife had sold after deciding to remain in Australia when Hermione had restored their memories. He had asked Harry to drive, and it forced Harry to embarrassingly admit he had never learned how.

Harry pretended he hadn't seen Mrs. Granger purse her lips, and he swore to himself that he'd learn how to drive a car.

So, instead of going out, the two Grangers decided it was a perfect time to talk to Harry—probably because Hermione wasn't around to stop them from interrogating him. When Mr. Granger asked him what he did, Harry told them the truth: that he had been an Auror, but had quit. When Mrs. Granger asked what he did now, Harry once again said the truth: that he was technically unemployed.

That time, both Mr. and Mrs. Granger pursed their lips disapprovingly.

They talked about the War, and Harry explained everything that had happened in more detail. It seemed Hermione had always skirted around the issue and never fully explained anything. He told them about his parents' death, how there had been a prophecy involving him, how people considered him—a mere seventeen-year-old—the only one who'd be able to defeat Voldemort once and for all. He explained everything, going into as much detail as they wanted—even describing the night Cedric had died. But he left out the Horcruxes and the Hallows completely, leaving large gaps in his story, as in why camping around the country rather than going to school was necessary. It was something he was sure they noticed, but he was unwilling to discuss the fact that a part of Voldemort's soul had lived in him for sixteen years, and he was grateful when they didn't press him.

Harry had rather foolishly thought at that point that nothing else could go wrong. After all, Hermione was due back any moment, and it seemed Mr. and Mrs. Granger were weary of talking to him.

Of course, he couldn't have been farther from the truth. It was as if they saved their best attack for the end, when he'd least expect it.

"So, Harry, you said you're going to propose? Care to tell us how you plan to?" Harry had blinked at Mr. Granger's question, panic filling him.

"Well, honestly, I'm still working it out."

"Surely you have some idea," Mrs. Granger had said, something in her eyes flickering, as if she could read his mind—as if she knew he was praying for some sort of miracle to get him out of this mess. "We swear we won't tell Hermione." Mr. Granger had nodded enthusiastically, and Harry found that his hand was ruffling his hair, almost of its own accord. Perhaps he had inherited more from his father than he had once thought.

"You know, no one ever told me how my dad and mum got together, how they fell in love. All I know is within a span of a year, my mum went from hating my dad to loving him." He had paused, a small grin on his face. "Actually, according to Sirius—he was my godfather, you know—she never actually hated him. I think she pretended, for Snape's sake." He then looked at the Granger's and nearly laughed at the confused expressions on their faces. "How can you tell? When you love someone?" he asked instead, fighting the sudden urge to just get up and leave.

"Are you unsure of your feelings for Hermione?" Mr. Granger had asked suspiciously, while Mrs. Granger just stared at him with an odd expression. "You told me you love her. That you've always loved her." By the end of his statement, he sounded accusatory, as if Harry had deliberately lied to him. Rather than answering right away, Harry had just smiled softly. He stood, poured the Grangers another cup of tea, and then sat back down, almost wearily.

"I'm saying that when I propose, I want it to be perfect. And I don't have any idea how to go about it. So I'm waiting for the right moment." It had immediately been obvious that Mr. Granger was satisfied by his answer. But Mrs. Granger had given him another odd look before smiling and turning on the old radio that sat next to the toaster.

Several minutes later, when Harry was unconsciously humming along to the music, Mrs. Granger asked him politely to shut up.

So instead, he began praying again. Though this time it was for Hermione to get back as soon as she could.

XXX

She could remember dancing with him in the tent, and inexplicably, the memory made her smile.

Most days, her mind pushed away all thoughts of the War. After all, other than death and pain, there was nothing to remember—nothing she'd ever want to think over. But sometimes she'd get these flashes—snippets of memories—that would make her smile, even feel warm inside. The one she got most often was one she felt rather ashamed of.

The two of them had been alone in that graveyard, standing in the snow and staring at the grave of his parents. Though she didn't think he particularly enjoyed that visit—and obviously anything that happened afterwards—the memory of the intimate moment they had shared always made her feel better. Despite all that had changed, all that had been torn apart, the memory reminded her that she still shared a unique bond with Harry—no matter how tarnished it was these days.

But the dancing in the tent, Harry's silly way of cheering her up after Ron's departure, was something else entirely. For the strangest reason, she couldn't think of anything else all day.

Her desk was piled high with paperwork, and she knew she had to get to it, that she had to attend to the issues that had propped up in her two day absence, but her mind was only focused on one thing: dancing with Harry.

Once upon a time, they had been best friends. She could go to him for absolutely anything, and he could trust her beyond a shadow of a doubt. Once upon a time, she had willingly walked into what she knew was a trap, all for Harry. She had chosen Harry over Ron during the Horcrux hunt, and when it seemed as if all their efforts had been in vain—that ultimately, Harry would have to die—she had offered to go with him.

Perhaps her mother had been right; maybe her relationship with Harry was an unhealthy one. It wasn't normal to be willing to sacrifice everything for someone, was it? Then again, Harry's mother had sacrificed everything for him, but that was out of her love—

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was being silly, thinking this way. Years had passed since Voldemort's defeat. Harry no longer needed someone to support him totally anymore. The reason they were so…distant…was because there was no need for that closeness—that almost instinctive bond.

There was nothing more involved; there never had been.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to think of the dance in the tent, of the warmth she had felt, the temporary security that had filled her entire being. Then, with a determined jerk of her head, she pushed the thought away—ignoring it as thoroughly as she ignored the other memories of the War.

XXX

"How was work, Hermione?" Mrs. Granger asked pleasantly.

"It was wonderful," she answered. Harry turned away from the game he and Mr. Granger were watching and frowned slightly at Hermione. Her voice was odd, sounding almost as if she'd been crying. He reached out without thinking, and took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Hermione looked at their entwined hands, her eyes filled with some unidentifiable emotion, and she pulled away.

The simple action felt like a kick to the stomach.

"Goal!" Mr. Granger yelled, and Harry turned back to the screen. Though he didn't know the rules to football very well, he was almost positive the player had been offside. Rather than point this out, however, he grinned and wondered if Mr. Granger would like to see a Quidditch game. It was obvious the older man was passionate about sports; Harry might was well introduce the greatest game ever invented to him.

"Harry was telling us he doesn't work, weren't you, Harry?" Mrs. Granger said suddenly. He turned away from the screen a second time and looked at Mrs. Granger carefully, wondering why on earth she'd say that. He knew Mr. Granger didn't like him, but he had thought Mrs. Granger did. Sighing, he nodded slowly.

"No, Mrs. Granger. I don't work." Perhaps it was the defeated tone in his voice, because Mr. Granger turned away from the game for the first time and studied the three of them before looking at his wife.

"Stop being so hard on the lad, Emma. It's hard to get back on your feet after a war. It took my father years before he could stand going out." Mrs. Granger shook her head slowly.

"Hermione's working. And they both went through the same things. Harry said as much earlier today." Harry suddenly felt very ill. She _knew_. He couldn't say how, and he didn't know when she had figured it out. But she _knew_.

"Of the three of us, Mrs. Granger, Hermione's always been the strongest. Ron and I could never keep up."

"Yet Ronald is working as well, and you're not," Mrs. Granger said.

"I never liked Ronald," Mr. Granger muttered, but Harry ignored that and fixed his gaze on Mrs. Granger.

"What can I say? I've always been the weak link." Finally, after keeping silent for so long, Hermione sat up straighter.

"I don't think he told you everything, mum," she said quietly.

"No, I told her everything," Harry interrupted, feeling a bit angry.

"Voldemort couldn't die because he had spilt his soul into seven," she said slowly, allowing the information to sink in. "We went around the country, finding and destroying the pieces of his soul. It was the only way to stop him."

"Hermione, stop," Harry warned, but she ignored him thoroughly. She continued talking as if he didn't even exist.

"During the battle at Hogwarts Harry discovered that one piece of Voldemort's soul was in him. He had to die in order to ensure someone else could defeat Voldemort."

"Hermione, I'm serious. That's enough." She turned to him and shook her head.

"Do you know what he did? He went and found Voldemort, and without even bothering to defend himself, let Voldemort cast the Killing Curse." Harry didn't know when Mr. Granger had turned off the television, but they were sitting in silence as Hermione spoke, giving away the very things he had never wanted her parents to know.

The very things he was ashamed of. The very things he had hoped would always remain only between him, Ron, and Hermione.

"Technically, Harry died that night. But his mother's protection—"

"Hermione!" Harry yelled, glaring at her. "Stop it. Stop talking about it. Just _stop_ it!" But Hermione glared right back at him.

"You dealt with more than everyone else _combined_, Harry!" she said in frustration. "I don't know why you'd let anyone say otherwise, even my mother. You have every right not to want to be an Auror anymore. You have every right to sit at home and not work." Hermione turned to her mother. "I don't know why it bothers you so much that he doesn't work. But it doesn't bother me, and it's what he wants. And frankly, I don't think anyone else factors into this equation." Silence filled the room until:

"Tea, anyone?" Mr. Granger asked.

XXX

"There's something they're not telling us, Daniel," Emma said stubbornly. Dan Granger looked at his wife and frowned.

Because of her comment about Harry not working, the rest of the night had been a relatively quiet and awkward one. Dan had attempted to start up conversations during dinner, and Harry had valiantly tried to help, but the two Granger women were frosty and not at all inclined to speak—to each other or to anyone else. So he and Harry had given up, and the moment they could, they escaped to the living room.

The two of them had spent the rest of the evening playing chess in silence. Hermione had said something about work and she had rushed off to the room that was technically her 'office,' and Emma had settled with reading a book.

To be quite honest, Dan was rather irked with his wife. He didn't like how she had handled the situation, mostly because of how upset both Harry and Hermione had seemed. Hermione had become frustrated and angry, and Harry actually looked as if he was close to tears. Dan supposed it was normal; the two of them had dealt with things no one—let alone teenagers—should have dealt with, and they had to learn how to live normally, without a threat to their lives constantly hanging over their heads. But he didn't say any of that. Instead, he kissed his wife on her forehead.

"I trust Harry, Emma. Whatever they're hiding, I don't think we need to worry."

"But—"

"He's a good man. He'll do right by her." His tone was firm, a clear indication that there would be no further discussion of the topic, but his wife did purse her lips and give him a disbelieving look.

Dan knew it was his job to be the suspicious one, to be the one that tried to scare his potential son-in-law away. But he had spent so much time with Harry, and when the young man had said he loved Hermione, it was painfully obvious he was telling the truth.

And why in the world would Dan try to scare away someone who genuinely cared for his daughter?

XXX

She sat on her bed, staring at the floor, unnaturally still. He knew she was waiting for him to blow up—to yell about how she had said things he never wanted said, about how angry he was. But Harry didn't feel like yelling. He didn't even feel angry—though he had felt that in the beginning.

He didn't know what he felt, exactly.

He had never been good with this sort of thing. Usually, he was the one comforted, not the comforter. In sixth year, when Ron had started dating Lavender, he was the one who had comforted her, the one that held her while she cried. But it hadn't done any good. And when Ron left during the hunt, he hadn't even bothered holding her. Why would she want him to? It had been his fault Ron had left in the first place.

A very large part of him wanted to turn around and leave, let her deal with this on her own—after all, she had pulled her hand away earlier. She didn't even want him to touch her. But instead, he stepped forward, and without giving her the chance to stop him, pulled her into an embrace.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said softly. He was shocked when Hermione clutched at him, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

"We're friends, right? Best friends?" she asked him, her voice muffled. The question stumped him, and he had no idea what could possibly lead Hermione to doubt that they were best friends, but he answered her anyway.

"Of course. Always." She pulled away, and Harry suddenly missed her warmth. But when she smiled at him, he found that he didn't quite mind.

"So the note on the forehead thing?" He laughed, remembering the owl he had sent to her that morning.

"I didn't know what else to say!" he defended. Hermione chuckled.

"You know, it's almost endearing that you can't lie well."

"Oh really? Don't think I forgot the whole Borgin and Burkes thing from sixth year."

"One time fluke."

"Yeah, right. I seem to recall the reason I'm here is because you can't lie." Hermione just rolled her eyes. She leaned her head on his shoulder, the two of them staring at floor in silence, when: "Can you teach me how to drive?"

For the next half hour, Harry tried to get Hermione to stop laughing so hard.

**Hey!**

**Thanks to all who read, review, favorite, and/or follow! It makes me very happy to see all those emails!**

**A quick note: All the H/Hr stories I've read seem to make Mrs. Granger instantly like Harry, and Mr. Granger want to always beat him up. I thought it'd be interesting to switch that up. **

**Anyway, hope you liked it! **


	5. Day Four

Chapter Five- Day Four

"No. No way. This is not going to happen," Ron said fervently, shaking his head.

"Oh, stop being so dramatic, Ronald. I happen to think it's a wonderful idea," Luna said pleasantly, turning to look at the redhead.

"Well, yeah, _you_ would. But you also think Wrackspurts make your brain go fuzzy." Luna gave Ron a mildly interested look before she turned back to Harry.

"We'd love to come to dinner tonight," she said, ignoring Ron's spluttering. "I've never met Hermione's parents."

"A bloody miracle, that is," Ron muttered, forcing Harry to fake a cough in order to hide his snort. Luna just turned to her fiancé and she patted him on the shoulder.

"Just because they don't like you, it doesn't mean they aren't perfectly pleasant. You're quite hard to like, Ronald." Again, Harry snorted, but he didn't even bother to hide it. Luna seemed very pleased with herself, and Ron was rather disgruntled.

"You don't know them, Luna!" Harry nodded in agreement.

"You think it's Mr. Granger who poses the threat at first," he explained, wringing his hands, "but then Mrs. Granger suddenly pounces on you. So you let your guard down when it comes to Mr. Granger, but then he goes and asks you how you're planning on proposing, and when you don't know he gives you that look, like you just killed his dog or something." Harry stopped and took a deep breath, realizing that Ron was staring at him with his mouth hanging open, and Luna seemed mildly amused.

He and Hermione hadn't wanted to lie to anyone. But Mrs. Granger had expressed her desire to see all of 'Hermione's wonderful friends!' (as if Harry had no friends to speak of) that morning at breakfast, and they couldn't have anyone just waltzing in and ruining the whole charade.

So they reached a compromise. Ron and Luna—being the two people Hermione and Harry trusted the most—were told the complete truth. Harry was forced to endure an entire morning of laughter and teasing from Ron, and funny looks from Luna. But the couple swore that they'd help with anything. 'Anything' included spreading the word that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were dating—and had been for two years.

Other than gossiping, Ron and Luna also promised to come to dinner, mainly because Harry felt awkward. Hermione and her mother still weren't speaking after the fight they had the previous night. It was bad enough that Hermione had refused to eat breakfast with Harry and her parents that morning, leaving Harry to fend on his own.

Needless to say, it hadn't gone well.

Thankfully, breakfast hadn't lasted long, and Harry was able to escape to Hogsmeade to spend the rest of the day with Ron and Luna. Hermione thought he was explaining the 'plan' to them; he was actually trying to avoid the Grangers, and his friends were the perfect excuse.

"He expects you to propose?" Ron asked incredulously. It was obvious he was trying hard not to laugh. Harry glared at him.

"Hermione thinks it's funny, too. This is serious!"

"I don't see why, Harry," Luna interjected, her voice calm despite his stress and Ron's mirth. "You and Hermione aren't actually getting married. Why does it matter if you fake a proposal?"

"I don't know!" he confessed. "I just—it bothers me. Faking the proposal. Maybe you're right. I'm just overthinking everything." No one spoke, preferring to sip their drinks or watch as Madame Rosmerta laughed and joked with other customers. Even Ron looked as if he was deep in thought—though about what, Harry had no idea.

Harry turned to his hands, wondering why on earth he'd feel so odd when it came to the prospect of proposing to Hermione. He realized the whole thing was a sham, and he knew it didn't matter if it was well thought out, or if she liked it. Yet, he found himself thinking of ways it would appeal to Hermione. There was a part of him that desperately wanted to do the 'proposal' right, and he couldn't understand why.

Perhaps it was because he had always considered marriage as something awe-inspiring. To get married meant that you had just started your family—a real family. And for Harry, having a family was something he always wanted.

He wouldn't just be the Weasleys' surrogate son…he'd be someone's husband, and one day, a child's father. The very thought was thrilling.

He hadn't allowed himself to think of such things for quite a while. The dreams had been steadily getting worse, and as they got worse, so did his dependence on the firewhiskey. But in the past few days, one of those problems had been solved; though he had not slept well since the Grangers' arrival, he also had not had a drop of alcohol. So those thoughts he had suppressed for so long were beginning to surface again.

Then again, perhaps he just wanted his proposal to be special because it would be the first time he'd do such a thing. And even though it was fake, he'd like to remember it fondly…

"How's Hermione?" Ron suddenly asked. Harry shrugged.

"She and her mum are having some sort of spat over me. But I think otherwise she's fine." Luna looked thoughtful, and Ron cracked a grin, finding the situation far more amusing than Harry thought he should.

"You know, I don't think Ginny will be pleased," Ron said, his grin turning into outright laughter. Now Harry knew why his best mate had been so amused.

In the past several months, Ginny had been hinting at a attempt to rekindle their relationship. It seemed she had forgotten how frustrated he made her, or how she didn't like to deal with his demons. Apparently, Ginny had forgotten that she had hated the time they were together just as much as he did.

No, Ginny wouldn't be pleased to hear about his 'relationship' with Hermione. She wouldn't know it was fake, and she'd think he had just been playing with her emotions for the past several months—something Harry certainly did not agree with. Of course, Ginny had a…selective…memory, and she would recall only the things she wished to recall.

"She's going to kill me," Harry said, downing the rest of his butterbeer in one swallow. Ron roared with laughter, and even Luna smiled dreamily.

XXX

Her parents thought she was working, and she felt a brief flash of guilt before she pushed it away. She was actually just laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts ranging from work to the dinner she and Harry had planned.

Mostly, though, her thoughts were of Harry.

Since the night he had mentioned that he still had dreams, that he couldn't control his magic, she began her research, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong. She had never heard of accidental bursts of magic in someone his age. Then again, Harry had never been normal…

Hermione sighed and rolled over to her side, closing her eyes briefly, deciding to think of something else.

She had thought having her parents back home would be fun. She had missed them, craved to see them each morning. She had thought that getting Harry out of his house would be a good idea, that perhaps she could help him as he had helped her after Voldemort's defeat.

But she had been wrong on both counts.

It was a curse, she decided. She was cursed to always gradually lose those that she loved. Before she knew about magic or magic, her parents had been her best friends. She had been disliked in school—perhaps because she was _that_ kid in class—and she had turned to her parents.

But then she went to Hogwarts, befriended Harry and Ron, and suddenly she was immersed in this new world, full of magic, adventure, and excitement. Her parents could no longer relate to her. They just didn't get it anymore, but they tried. They tried _so_ hard.

By the end of fourth year, with Voldemort's return and the danger Harry seemed to have been thrust in, everything changed once more. Hermione's job was no longer just to help Harry, it was to ensure to the best of her ability that he was never alone. He needed her, and she had no choice but to push everything else away. So her parents, the people she once called her best friends, were filed to the back of her mind.

And somewhere between fifth and sixth year, they no longer tried anymore.

After Dumbledore's death, it had become clear that she, Ron, and Harry would not be returning to Hogwarts. So she had erased her parents' memories, and sent them off to Australia—assuaging her guilt with thoughts about how Harry's need for her was greater than her parents.

She felt a single tear roll down her cheek as she thought about the day she had effectively erased any connection she once had with them.

They were back, they could remember her, but it wasn't the same. There was a distance, a sense of distrust. Despite being in the same room, it felt as if the three of them were worlds apart.

She supposed she could have lived with that knowledge, though. She knew they were happy in Australia, and she knew they had forgiven her—mostly. She could have lived with her actions had she still had Harry. But she didn't have him, either.

That, too, was her fault.

Hermione sighed and got out of bed, going back to her research. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake off her thoughts about her curse.

XXX

"Ronald Weasley! It's been quite a while," Mr. Granger said loudly, his voice icy, and his blue eyes hard. Ron visibly swallowed as he stepped forward to shake Mr. Granger's hand.

"M-Mr. Granger. It's s-so nice to see you," he stammered, looking as if Mr. Granger would throttle him at any moment. Harry was forced to hide his grin; it seemed as if Mr. Granger had never forgiven Ron for the brief amount of time he had dated Hermione.

Harry didn't know too many details. He knew that Hermione had broken it off, but neither she nor Ron ever mentioned why. He had a suspicion that it involved Luna, but had no way of confirming it. But apparently, Mr. Granger knew what had happened, and he wasn't happy at all.

"Um, this is Luna Lovegood, my fiancée," Ron muttered, staring at the floor as he pushed Luna forward. Luna seemed unaware of the tension—or more likely, didn't care—and she smiled dreamily at Hermione's father.

"It's very nice to meet you. I've heard all kinds of things about you and Mrs. Granger," she said, ignoring Ron's sudden coughing fit.

"Oh? Is that so?" Mr. Granger said quietly, looking at Ron in distaste. "What sort of things?" Luna opened her mouth to answer, but Harry decided that it was high time he got his best mate out of trouble.

"Luna! Hermione's upstairs. She wants to see you," he said quickly, grabbing her by the elbow. Luna nodded amiably, and allowed herself to be dragged away from Mr. Granger.

"Does Hermione actually want to see me, Harry?" she asked as they went up the stairs. Harry frowned, looked back at where he had left Ron with Mr. Granger, watching as his best mate talked uncomfortably with Hermione's father, and then nodded.

"'Course. She always wants to see you," he said, grinning. Luna gave him a look, one he was quite familiar with since Hermione looked at him that way all the time—a look that clearly indicated she knew everything that came out of his mouth was a complete lie. "Oh, c'mon, Ron's in enough trouble as it is. I know it's funny, but cut the poor bloke a break." At his words, Luna's look turned contemplative and she tilted her head slightly.

"I'm glad you're doing better, Harry," she said with a smile before turning around and heading towards Hermione's room. Harry watched her go, his mouth hanging open in surprise. Suddenly, he remembered Hermione saying something about how Luna didn't think he was a good influence on Ron, and he blinked.

He thought back to just a week ago, and he realized that Luna was right—he _was_ feeling better. He was joking and laughing, and he faced the day not with dread but with enthusiasm. Perhaps he still couldn't sleep, and though he wouldn't admit it to Hermione that morning, he was sure the broken lamp in her room was his fault, but he did feel better.

Harry smiled slightly before turning around and headed back down the stairs, wondering if Mrs. Granger had seen Ron yet, and imagining how she'd react. He found himself chuckling merrily as he walked, feeling lighter than he had in ages.

XXX

"So you're marrying Luna, are you?" Mrs. Granger said pleasantly, smiling at Ron. After three days of living with the Grangers, Harry knew that Mrs. Granger was hiding a great deal of bitterness behind her pleasant voice. He also knew that he should keep his mouth shut, and just leave Ron to fend on his own.

"Mother, leave Ron alone," Hermione said impatiently, her eyes narrowed slightly. Mrs. Granger turned to Hermione, one eyebrow raised.

"My, you are very defensive of your _friends_." No one missed how she stressed the word 'friend' and Harry squirmed in his seat. She knows, she knows, she knows, she knows…

"Only when they're being treated unfairly," Hermione shot back. From his left, he heard Ron let out a nervous chuckle, and watched as Luna patted her future husband on the back reassuringly.

If he had thought bring Ron and Luna over to dinner would make the awkwardness from breakfast go away, he had been sorely mistaken. Dinner was, to say the least, an utter fiasco. Hermione was determined to argue with anything her mother had to say, taking it so far that Harry was sure she'd swear that had secretly eloped with him ages ago just to see how red her mother would turn. Mrs. Granger, however, felt the strong desire to make comments about how endearing it was that Hermione had such good _friends_, and she'd then feel the need to stare at him for a good five seconds—just to make sure everyone knew what she was hinting at.

Mr. Granger, on the other hand, had it out for Ron. From the moment they sat down to dinner, Mr. Granger's eyes were on Ron, and it seemed as if they had been officially glued to the redhead. Then again, Ron had surprised Harry. Though it was obvious he was uncomfortable, he held Mr. Granger's gaze. In fact, it seemed as if Ron was trying to prove a point.

Luna, of course, didn't seem to notice anything. She hummed as she ate her chicken, laughed inappropriately whenever Mrs. Granger made one of her 'friend' comments, and had at one point hit Harry on top of the head, claiming she had seen a nargle and it wouldn't do for him to be infested with the little buggers.

No matter what anyone said, Harry thought Luna was the greatest person he had ever met.

Harry didn't talk at all. He didn't help Ron, he didn't even look at Hermione. He kept his head down, and every now and then shared a smile with Luna—the only one who seemed to know what he was feeling.

He was the only one who didn't know, he realized. Even Luna knew what had happened between Ron and the Grangers, and he was the only one who was kept out of the loop. It made him angry, it made him frustrated, but most of all, it just made him really sad. Ron was his best mate; Hermione was the person he trusted the most. When had he become the person they couldn't trust or count on?

Not for the first time, Harry thought back to his school years, and he found himself thinking about it wistfully. Was it insane of him? Was there actually something wrong with him that he wished he could go back to that time?

He had been needed once. He had been the person people turned to. Now, he was nobody; Voldemort was gone, who really needed the Boy-Who-Lived? Seven years was all it took for everyone to forget the horrors of the war, of what he had given up to fight the monster that killed his parents.

Even his own friends had no need for him. After all, they all seemed to know what was going on, but none of them thought he was important enough to know. He closed his eyes briefly, wondering if all this was just in his head, and if he was actually going crazy. What if after everything he'd been through, a few screws had been knocked loose?

"I think I missed a nargle, Harry," Luna said, interrupting his thoughts. She was looking at him intently, staring straight into his eyes. He was suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I think you might have," he said, noticing that Hermione and her mother had fallen silent, and for the first time, Mr. Granger had looked away from Ron.

"Nargles? What're are nargles?" Mr. Granger asked suddenly. Hermione rolled her eyes as Luna started explaining what they were. And once again, the thought that Luna was the greatest person he had ever met flitted through his mind.

"There's no such thing as nargles, Dad," Hermione said tiredly, interrupting Luna. Harry looked at Hermione, actually looked at her—from the crease on her forehead that indicated she was stressed, to the small curve of her lips betraying the weary façade she had put up—and he smiled slightly, amending his previous thought. Luna was a great person, but she wasn't the greatest person he had ever met. No, _that_ spot had been taken a very long time ago.

"_Harry—you're a great wizard, you know."_

"_I'm not as good as you."_

"_Me! Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship and bravery and—oh Harry—be _careful_!"_

"There _is_ a such thing as nargles! Look, Harry's head is infested with them right now!" Mr. and Mrs. Granger both gave him a rather disgusted look, but Ron smirked, and Hermione just laughed.

"Just because someone's preoccupied it doesn't mean their head is infested with _nargles_," she said reasonably. Harry grinned.

"I can hear the nargles buzzing in my ear. It's rather distracting." Ron snorted, Luna looked slightly amused, and Hermione just rolled her eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, clearly out of their element, merely stared at Harry as if he had grown another head. And for some strange reason, Harry got quite a bit of satisfaction out of that.

XXX

"—I don't think Harry's very happy, Hermione." Almost an hour ago, Mr. and Mrs. Granger had gone to bed, probably tired of listening to things they didn't understand, and it had just been the four of them chatting away, almost as if they were back at Hogwarts. He had just left for a minute to go to the loo, when he had heard Ron say his name in a hushed voice. It was clear he wasn't supposed to hear this conversation. Harry pressed his ear to the kitchen door, deciding he was going to hear it anyway.

"I know he's not. But what am I supposed to do?" Hermione answered, sounding defeated.

"He's not unhappy," Luna said in her dreamy voice, "he's just confused. And I think he's restless. Maybe if you two told him the truth—"

"No," Ron said with finality. "Hermione doesn't want him to know, so we're not going to say anything. Besides, he just stopped the drinking. What do you think will happen if we tell him?"

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione said softly. There was a silence and then:

"He's better. And he's not made of glass. I wish you two would stop treating him that way," Luna muttered. Harry thought the conversation was over, and he was about to turn around and go back to the loo when Hermione spoke up again.

"He literally died to save all of us. I'm not going to let him ever get hurt again. And telling him would just hurt him. You know that."

"I know I promised to keep quiet, Hermione, but shouldn't you let him decide? Maybe, just this once, you're wrong?" It was Ron, not Hermione, who answered Luna.

"I hope she's wrong. And I hope Harry knocks some sense into her. But if she _is_ right, we'd be hurting Harry. And one thing I agree with Hermione on is this: he's been hurt enough."

Harry took several steps back before he abandoned the 'hide in the loo' idea and shuffled into the garden. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and breathed in the cold night's air, trying to control his hammering heart. They _were_ hiding something from him.

It wasn't all in his head after all.

**Hello all! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, favorites, etc. **

**Anyway, I was wondering if anyone would be willing to beta this story for me? I usually don't catch my mistakes, and I'd love another set of eyes. If you're willing, PM me or let me know in a review? **

**Well, hope you liked the chapter! **


	6. Day Five

Chapter Six- Day Five

She was looking at him again, and it was starting to grate on his nerves. He wanted to be angry at her, wanted to turn around and never look back, and he damn well couldn't do that when she just _stared_ at him with her sad, doleful eyes.

When Mr. Granger had announced he had to get out of the house that morning, Harry felt nothing but a great deal of appreciation for his fake future father-in-law. After all, Harry wanted to get out of the house as well. Being in the house meant being cooped up with Hermione, and honestly, he wasn't sure long he'd be able to hold out before confronting her about what he had overheard.

So ten minutes after breakfast—hasty toast prepared by a almost flustered Hermione, though Harry didn't know what reason she'd have to be flustered—the four of them climbed into Hermione's car, heading towards the Leaky Cauldron. It was decided that Mr. and Mrs. Granger needed to see Diagon Alley, as that one time in second year didn't quite count since they had only been there for a short while.

He didn't want to admit it, but spending time with the Grangers was far more fun than he had thought it would be. Then again, he avoided Mrs. Granger and Hermione like the plague, and practically had glued himself to Mr. Granger's side. Harry knew he wasn't being polite, and he knew the elder Grangers had already sussed out that there was something wrong, but he didn't even care. All he knew was that he was angry, and he didn't like it when Hermione looked at him because he could feel his anger giving way.

And, dammit, he didn't want his anger to give way.

"Did you and Hermione have a fight?" Mr. Granger suddenly asked, once again displaying his disdain for subtlety, something Harry found rather refreshing.

"Yes," he answered honestly.

"Does _she_ know that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as Harry paid for four sundaes at Fortescue's. Harry handed one of the ice creams to him, shrugging slightly before turning to look at the two Granger women. Hermione and Mrs. Granger were sitting at a table, apparently in the middle of a heated discussion.

"Uh, no," he answered honestly once more. Mr. Granger laughed, surprising Harry.

"I will never understand the two of you," he said as he shook his head. The way he said it, as if he was amused, bothered Harry. It was as if the older man knew something no one else did, and quite frankly, Harry was tired of being the person who never knew what was going on.

"Yeah. I don't think I will, either," Harry said almost sadly. They walked back towards the table where Mrs. Granger and Hermione were staring at each other angrily. Mr. Granger handed out the sundaes before grinning.

"I suppose everyone's just in a mood today," he said cheerfully, stuffing a large spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. Hermione's eyes strayed towards Harry again, and he felt the walls he placed around himself weaken. It wasn't fair that she was his best friend and he couldn't stay upset with her. It wasn't fair that all she had to do was give him a sad look at he could feel his heart go out to her.

It wasn't fair that he had to fight with himself because of her.

"Are you alright, Harry dear?" Mrs. Granger asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. Harry gave her a tight smile, still not sure if he had forgiven her for the comments she had made about him not working.

"Yes. Just tired."

"Oh, man up, son," Mr. Granger said, clapping him on the back. "He's upset with Hermione. Won't say why, though." Mr. Granger looked at his daughter. "Apparently the two of you have had a fight, but you just don't know it yet."

"Mr. Granger!" Harry protested, but the older man wasn't done.

"So, Hermione. What've you done? I didn't know Harry _could_ stay mad at you. Honestly, he's completely enamored with you—puts you up on a pedestal, even—so you must have done something terrible."

"Mr. Granger, I'm never going to tell you anything ever again," Harry muttered, putting his head down to hide his embarrassment. It was why he missed the look on Hermione's face—a sad look mingled with a great deal of affection—when she stared at the back of his head.

"You didn't know Harry in fifth and sixth year," she said with a light laugh. At her words, Harry looked up, giving her a glare.

"I was having a rough time," he said, trying to be angry though his heart wasn't in it. "But both you and Ron seemed to be more interested in other things at the time." Hermione blushed and looked away, and Harry felt guilty. She had done so much, and had given up so much, that it wasn't fair of him to say something like this. After all, she had nearly died in fifth year, and it had been his fault. So what if all through sixth year they argued over a book? So what if she had seemed more interested in Ron's dealings with Lavender rather than worrying about his suspicions regarding Malfoy?

"Oh? What were Ron and Hermione more interested in?" Mr. Granger asked, looking at Harry suspiciously. It was Harry's turn to blush.

"You're being so hypocritical. It's not like you _wanted_ us around," Hermione said angrily before Harry could even respond to Mr. Granger.

"Maybe in fifth year. But after Sirius's death? You think I liked being called crazy by my two best friends? You think I _wanted_ Malfoy to be a Death Eater, to be right about what he was planning?" Mrs. Granger opened her mouth to interrupt, but Hermione was too quick.

"Every time we mentioned Sirius you clammed up! And besides, we never called you crazy," she shot back. Harry let out a mirthless laugh.

"No. Not to my face, at least. But you know what, Hermione? I knew you and Ron talked about me behind my back. And I don't appreciate it. I never have, and I never will." Hermione opened and closed her mouth before a look of understanding appeared on her face.

"You _eavesdropped_?" she asked incredulously. Mr. Granger snorted.

"Bad move, son," he muttered, earning a glare from his wife and daughter.

"If you didn't want me to overhear you should have talked somewhere else!" Harry said heatedly.

"Do I have to cast a Silencing Charm while in my own home?" Hermione asked sarcastically.

"That's what happens when you talk about someone behind their back," Harry bit back.

"Oh please, you've just been looking for an excuse to go back and hide from the world. Have you found it?" Harry forgot that he was sitting with Mrs. and Mr. Granger, that he was supposed to be Hermione's boyfriend, that he was helping her.

"If I was going to go back and hide from the world, I already would have done that, wouldn't I? _Especially_ after the lamp thing!"

"Oh, so _now_ you admit that it was you!"

"Well, it wasn't a house-elf."

"Oh, ha-ha, you're so funny," Hermione deadpanned.

"Alright! The two of you need to stop right now!" Mr. Granger said loudly, looking at Harry and then at his daughter. "Let's go. I want to see the rest of this place." Harry gave a nod, but Hermione looked as if she was close to protesting. "Oh, c'mon, Hermione. You're acting like your mother."

"Dad—" Hermione began, her eyes flashing at being compared to her mother, but Harry interrupted her, feeling rather excited.

"I'll show you Quality Quidditch Supplies!" he said, grinning from ear to ear. He was about to stand up and show them the way, when he felt a small tug on his sleeve. Harry looked down only to see a young girl—no more than eight or nine—looking at him with large round eyes, a grin on her face.

"_You're_ Harry Potter," she stated in an awestruck voice. Mrs. Granger raised an eyebrow, and Mr. Granger looked intrigued. Hermione, on the other hand, smiled slightly.

"Well, uh, I'm him—I mean, that's me," Harry managed to say, running his fingers through his hair. The girl smiled brightly.

"Wow," she said under her breath.

Before they left Fortescue's, Harry made sure to buy the girl and her family sundaes.

XXX

Mr. Granger didn't look too happy. Then again, considering what they were looking at, Harry had to admit he didn't blame the older man.

"When I sold it, I didn't think this would happen," he said softly. Harry looked at him, understanding exactly what Mr. Granger meant. When he had turned twenty-one, he had received several notices from Gringotts saying that he was now in full possession of the entire Potter fortune. Other than the great deal of money and other small things—his mother's jewelry, some old school things that belonged to his parents, and many pictures both magical and muggle—that were officially his, it also meant that he could have done anything he wanted with the small home in Godric's Hollow.

Of course, he didn't sell it, even though that thought crossed his mind. He had thought about how many terrible things that home represented, and he had wanted nothing more to do with it. That is, until he had gotten out of his drunken haze long enough to go through the albums of photos. It was his _parents'_ home, and even though he had no good memories of it, he knew it was a place his parents had once been happy.

So he left it alone.

Mr. Granger's situation was far different than his own, of course. After Voldemort's defeat, Harry and Hermione had gone to find the Grangers and restored their memories. Though the Grangers had decided they wanted to remain in Australia, they did briefly come back to sell their practice and pass the ownership of their home to Hermione.

But that broken-hearted feeling that Mr. Granger was experiencing? Harry had felt it as well. He couldn't say why—though perhaps it was because he was adamant in never going near Godric's Hollow again and that left him feeling awful—and he didn't quite want to know. He pushed all his thoughts away and realized that for the first time he felt this odd connection with Mr. Granger.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Granger," Harry said, looking back at the empty lot that had once been a dental practice.

"I don't know why it's so shocking. I sold it. I knew this would happen."

"You knew it would be turned into a lot?" Harry asked curiously. Mr. Granger gave him a look.

"_No._ I knew something would happen to it, though."

"Oh, c'mon, Mr. Granger. Now you're being dramatic."

"Dramatic?"

"Yes. That's such an ominous thing to say. 'I knew something would happen to it.' Well—sorry—but wouldn't that be obvious?"

"You want to get hurt, son?" Mr. Granger asked, though he didn't look angry.

"Sorry, Mr. Granger, but I'm more afraid of Hermione and Mrs. Granger than I am of you." For a moment, it seemed as if Mr. Granger was going to try and prove him wrong, but then the older man laughed, turning away from the empty lot.

"You're a smart lad. That's good." Harry watched as he walked towards the car, where Mrs. Granger and Hermione were waiting so they could just go home after a long day. He looked at the lot, frowned slightly, and somehow knew that Mr. Granger wasn't calling him smart because he had said that he was afraid of Mrs. Granger and Hermione. He nodded to himself and walked away from the lot as well, a small grin on his face.

XXX

_Someone had tied him up, his arms and legs bound so tightly that he could barely move an inch. In front of him, Ron was laying still, his skin as pale as a ghost's. _

"_Help me, Harry," Ron moaned, trying to move. There was a trickle of blood streaming down from his mouth and onto his chin. Harry struggled against his binds, feeling them dig into his skin and draw blood, but he didn't care._

"_Hold on, Ron! Hold on!" he cried, actual tears on his face. Where was his wand? Where was everyone else? Why didn't anyone come and help?_

_Harry blinked and Ron was gone, replaced by Sirius._

"_Harry, help me!" his godfather begged. Harry thrashed against the binds. _

"_Sirius! Sirius!" he cried out, praying to be released so he could help his godfather, so that he could protect him. _

_But then Sirius was gone. Ginny was the one crying out in pain. And then Dumbledore. Neville. Luna. McGonagall. Remus. Fred and George. Each one said the same thing, begged for the same thing:_

"_Help, Harry!" _

"_I'm trying! I swear I'm trying…" Harry said through his tears. Fred and George disappeared, Hermione taking their place. _

_Her hair was matted and dirty, streaks of dirt and dried blood on her face. It looked as if it was excruciating for her to move a single muscle. _

"_It's ok, Harry," she said softly, understanding flooding her voice. "It's ok." _

"_No! Hermione! Hermione!" Even as he called her name, high, cold laughter filled his ears—laughter he never thought he'd hear again. "Hermione!" _

"Harry? Harry, are you alright? Wake up!" Harry's eyes shot open, his chest heaving, and his throat sore. The light was on, and Hermione was leaning over his makeshift bed worriedly, looking at him as if she'd never really seen him.

"Hermione?" he said disbelievingly. It had been a dream, a dream. That's all. A dream.

"Are you alright? I mean, I had to cast Silencing Charms on the room. I was afraid you'd wake up my parents, you were getting so loud. Harry?" He had sat up, wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead with his sleeve before holding a hand out to Hermione.

"Please?" he asked hoarsely, not really knowing what he was asking for. It seemed, however, that Hermione knew what he needed better than himself, because she took his hand and sat next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him.

"It was just a dream," she said softly. Harry nodded dumbly, not listening to the comforting words she was saying, preferring to focus on breathing her in—breathing in that clean scent he always associated with her. He breathed her in and paid attention to her heartbeat, to the rise and fall of her chest, to the warmth of her body.

He paid attention to anything that proved that she was in his arms. That she was safe. That she was _alive_.

He didn't notice that tears were mingled in with the beads of sweat, and he didn't notice that Hermione had tears of her own. He just held her tighter, repeating the same words over and over again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so _sorry_."

**Well, here's chapter six. Thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, favorites, etc. You guys are awesome! **

**Let me know what you think!**


	7. Day Six

Chapter Seven- Day Six

"Oi, watch it."

"_You _watch it, Weasley. Do you plan on helping me at all?"

"No, not really," Ron answered with a grin, leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the kitchen table. Harry scowled.

"If Luna saw you, what would she say?" he admonished.

"_Merlin_, you've stayed with Hermione for too long. You even sound like her." Harry stilled, a thoughtful look appearing on his face.

"Huh," he muttered, before turning back to the banner he was trying to put up. He really wished Ron would quit fooling around to help him, but it didn't seem as if that'd happen anytime soon. Ron had been quite adamant when he said he wanted nothing to do with the occasion—and if Harry was being honest with himself, he felt the exact same way.

It was Mrs. Granger's birthday.

Harry sighed as he leaned back slightly to analyze his work so far, and he felt rather incompetent. The banner that read 'Happy birthday!' was crooked, the streamers he had hung around the house were limp—as if they didn't want to celebrate either—and the smell of burnt cake still filled the air, even though he had cast several air freshening charms. Honestly, all of this was Hermione's fault anyway.

Of course, the thought of Hermione made Harry think back to earlier that morning and found himself blushing, suddenly glad that he was facing away from Ron.

He had woken up that morning with Hermione in his arms, her head resting on his chest, her body pressed up against his. They were in this odd position—half sitting up, half laying down—and despite being incredibly uncomfortable, it was quite possibly the most _comfortable_ he'd been in years. And it was all because for a few short minutes, while he was awake and Hermione slept on, he was at complete peace. But then she had woken up and dropped a bombshell on him, and his peace had been shattered.

It was _Mrs. Granger's _birthday, and it was up to him to prepare everything.

"So where are the Grangers?" Ron suddenly asked. Harry shrugged, turning to look at his best friend.

"No idea. Hermione took them out and told me to 'get the house ready.'"

"Typical. She rushes off leaving us to do the hard work."

"Us? You're not doing anything!" Harry protested. "I don't know why Hermione invited the two of you. Dinner the other night was a disaster." Ron winked and grinned.

"I think she wants to make sure her parents don't look at you. When was the last time you slept, mate? You look horrible." Harry blushed again, his thoughts going back to that morning, wondering what Ron would say if he confessed that he had slept soundly for most of the night…

"Uh—"

"Hermione told Luna—who told _me_—that you eavesdropped on us the other night. How much did you hear?" Ron interrupted.

"When did—" Harry started, wondering just when Hermione had the time to blab to Luna.

"I don't know, just answer the question." Harry sat down across from Ron, and felt the same anger from yesterday fill him.

"I know that the three of you are hiding something from me." His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to give Ron a piece of his mind, when Luna walked into the kitchen, humming to herself.

"Hello Harry," she said pleasantly. "I see you're in a mood today. It's just like old times." Harry opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, unable to formulate a response, so he settled with a glare, which of course seemed not to bother Luna at all. She just looked at him happily, as if the greatest thing in the world had just occurred.

"I deserve to know whatever Hermione's hiding from me," he said finally, looking from Ron to Luna. The couple gave each other a significant glance that didn't go unnoticed by Harry, and then Ron leaned forward and stared at him intently.

"Has Mr. Granger asked you about your proposal to Hermione again?" he asked, a grin breaking out on his face. Harry blinked at the change in topic, but sighed, knowing he wasn't going to get anything out of Ron and Luna.

"He hinted at it once. But I just don't get it. I know Mrs. Granger is suspicious, and I'm _sure_ she knows we're faking this, but Mr. Granger seems to think we're the greatest couple ever! Why won't she tell him? Why isn't she ratting us out?" He ran his fingers through his hair nervously. These questions had plagued him since the night Mrs. Granger had talked about his unemployment and hinted at his inadequacy, but it was the first time he had voiced them aloud. Ron raised an eyebrow, but Luna let out a snort.

"Oh, Harry. That's so funny," she said, laughing. Harry watched her for a moment before turning to Ron and giving him a questioning look.

"I don't think you realize how you and Hermione look to the rest of us," Ron said slowly, as if he was thinking carefully before speaking each word.

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, feeling his cheeks heat.

"Well, think about it, Harry. In fourth year, Rita Skeeter wrote about you and Hermione—"

"Skeeter was out to get the two of us! You know that," Harry protested, but Luna shook her head.

"What about Cho in your fifth year? When she came to Ravenclaw tower after your date, she kept crying about how she'd never match up to 'Hermione bloody Granger,'" Luna said in her dreamy voice.

"Oh, c'mon! Cho was just angry that I had to go meet up with Hermione after our date," Harry argued, but Ron rolled his eyes.

"Didn't you say even Dumbledore had asked you about Hermione in sixth year? He seemed to think the two of you were dating?" he said logically. Harry groaned.

"He only said it because Hermione and I spent a lot of time together."

"Harry, even _I_ thought there was something going on between the two of you, and I'm your best mate!" Ron said quickly, as if he thought Harry would interrupt him. "It's just the way the two of you are. You always just _knew_ how she was feeling, and she could do the same with you. Honestly, who understands you better than Hermione?"

"Well—"

"Ginny was always slightly intimidated by Hermione. I know for a fact that she didn't like that you took Hermione with you to find the Horcruxes," Luna supplied, shrugging when Harry looked at her incredulously.

"Ginny never said anything. She took it well!"

"Well, she wasn't going to blow up, especially just after Dumbledore had died, now was she? And afterwards, there was nothing she could say to change your mind." The way Luna said it, like it should have been common sense, made Harry feel stupid. But Ron didn't give him time to contemplate that stupidity.

"Look, Harry, I know the two of you aren't dating. I know you just consider Hermione as your best friend, but you have to admit, everyone's seen _something_. The only question is if we're wrong or you are."

"Who's everyone?" Harry asked, his thoughts going back that morning, and his cheeks heating once more.

"Ronald and I," Luna answered, ticking names off her fingers. "George, Mr. Weasley, Fleur, Andromeda, Mr. Ollivander, obviously Mr. and Mrs. Granger, uh—"

"Okay! Okay. I get it." Harry leaned his head back, feeling overwhelmed.

"Do you?" Ron asked. "You see why Mrs. Granger hasn't ratted you out, yet? It's because she _can't_ be sure. You and Hermione are too bloody confusing to figure out."

"Wonderful. Just…wonderful," Harry muttered, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes.

"Speaking of Ginny," Luna said, smiling, "she wasn't very happy when we told her about you and Hermione. But she seems to think this is just a phase and that you'll go back to her eventually."

"Oh, Merlin. I'm in so much trouble…"

"Yes, you are," Ron said happily. "Did I forget to tell you? You and the Grangers are invited to the Burrow! Mum and Dad want to congratulate you and Ginny wants to hurt you." Luna patted Harry on the shoulder.

"Oh Ron, don't lie to Harry," she admonished. Harry gave her a small smile, feeling slightly better. But then: "Mrs. Weasley isn't happy with you either. She seems to think you abandoned Ginny." Harry put his head on the table, the banner behind him hanging limply, forgotten.

"I always get myself into messes," he muttered, his voice muffled. The only answer he got was Ron and Luna's laughter.

XXX

Emma didn't particularly like Ronald Weasley or Harry Potter. In fact, if she was honest with herself, she rather _disliked_ the two boys. But she understood that if she wanted to have any sort of relationship with her own daughter, the two disagreeable boys were a part of the package. Of course, she _did_ have her reasoning for not liking her daughter's friends, even if Hermione found her reasoning absurd.

First of all, there was Ronald Weasley, the quintessential dimwit. He was everything Emma despised: foolish, rude, oblivious, obnoxious, thickheaded, and though Hermione and Harry didn't seem to want to admit it, selfish.

They thought she wasn't paying attention, but she had noticed how Harry had looked uncomfortable when he spoke of their time in the tent. How he had only briefly mentioned the fact his so-called 'best mate' hadn't been there for him when he had been chosen to compete in that horrifying tournament. Yes, both Hermione and Harry skirted around the issue, as if bringing it up would make it happen again. As if they would be abandoned by Ron yet again.

But each time Emma tried to point this out to Hermione, her daughter waved her hand impatiently. "Ron has his quirks," she said once, as if it wasn't a big deal. Not only had she forgiven the redhead, she acted as if it never happened at all! As if Ron had never broken her heart, as if there had never been any strain on their friendship.

Then, of course, there was Harry. When Emma had met the boy many, many years ago, she had liked him. He was polite and had seemed kind, even if he was a bit shy and small for his age. She had liked him when he came with Hermione to find them in Australia , and she had liked him when Ron and Hermione were dating—though by that point, Ronald had lost her favor forever. But ever since that day that Hermione had said she had been dating Harry for two years without telling a single soul…well, needless to say Harry had lost her favor as well.

She didn't like secrets, she didn't like being kept in the dark—especially when it concerned her daughter. A part of her felt as if Harry just didn't _care_ enough to tell them the _truth_, that he felt far above such things. She wished Hermione would let go of her pride for just a minute. She wished she could turn back time and go back to when Hermione was just a little girl…

No, Emma Granger didn't like the two boys—actually, she was sure she'd _never_ like Ronald Weasley—but right at that moment, she thought that she didn't quite mind Harry after all.

She had spent the entire day with Hermione and Dan, spending time with the two most important people in her life. They did things like any normal family would; no longer were they separated by the fact they that lived in different worlds, or the fact that she and Dan barely knew their daughter. It was perfect, and Emma hadn't been expecting anything else. She had thought she would get home and then turn in, like any other night—after all, Hermione and Dan had given her the best birthday possible. But she had been so wrong, and for the first time ever, she didn't quite mind it.

When they had first arrived home six days ago, she had barely recognized her home. The notches on the wall where she and Dan had kept track of Hermione's height over the years was hidden by a bookcase; the upright piano that Hermione had played regularly until going off to Hogwarts had been pushed into the corner, blanketed in dust. Only the furniture had remained the same.

But when they arrived home, the piano had been dusted, a soft tune filling the house. A large banner that read 'Happy Birthday' hung from the bookcases that took up so much of the living room, and the smell of cake filled her nostrils. There was even a fire roaring in the fireplace.

Emma found herself smiling, and she looked around to see Harry leaning against the door that led to the kitchen, a small grin on his face. Luna was watching the piano as it played itself, and Ron was sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fire.

"Happy birthday, Mrs. Granger," Harry said as way of hello. Behind her, Hermione let out a little laugh, and Dan's eyes sparkled.

"This—Did you do all this yourself?" she asked, finding herself desperately searching for words, something that didn't happen very often. Harry shook his head.

"Luna helped," he said, and it seemed to be an inside joke, because Luna began laughing, and Ron looked slightly miffed.

"The piano is playing itself," Dan said softly, walking towards the old instrument. Luna nodded knowledgeably.

"Oh yes. Harry managed to charm it. It's very difficult magic, really," she said cheerfully, her eyes on the piano. It was now playing something faster, more powerful. Hermione let out a gasp.

"Ooh, which charm did you use, Harry? _Lascivio? _Or was it—"

"Hermione," Dan interrupted with a laugh, "I doubt this is the time." Although Hermione bit her lip, it was obvious that the moment she was alone with Harry, she was going to grill him for information. Just the thought made Emma smile.

"I'll go get the cake and tea!" Harry said. Emma looked at the boy that Hermione claimed she was dating, and she had a sudden idea.

"I'll help you," she said quickly, not missing the look of panic on Harry face. She smiled again, following Harry into the kitchen, and giving Dan a wink when he looked at her suspiciously.

XXX

Harry watched Mrs. Granger warily, not liking the look on her face. It looked to be a cross between contemplative and mischievous, and he had seen it on Hermione several times. He had seen it when she had suggested brewing the Polyjuice Potion in second year, again in third year when she helped save Sirius, and then again in fifth year, when she had come up with the idea for the DA. Usually, the look meant nothing good.

"So, you went through all this trouble for me?" she said suddenly, her eyes meeting his. Harry had preferred it when she was staring at his slightly lopsided cake—the third one he had made that day as the first two had burned—and he squirmed.

"Well, I suppose." He frowned slightly. "I mean, Hermione asked me to help out, and I was more than happy—"

"Do you do _everything _Hermione asks you to do?" The alarms in Harry's head were going haywire, ringing away like mad.

"Y-no."

"What was that?"

"No. Definitely not. I just helped out because, I mean, you and Mr. Granger are her parents, and you're important to her, and—well," he stopped, blushing slightly at his rambling, but was determined to go on, "it was my fault that your relationship with her isn't what it once was. And I'll do anything to fix that." He must have surprised Mrs. Granger because for a moment, she looked speechless. Her eyes were slightly widened, and there was something unidentifiable swimming in her brown eyes—eyes that still reminded Harry far too much of Hermione.

"I see." Harry didn't like how that sounded.

"Er, you see what?" he asked, not noticing that the water for the tea had boiled. Mrs. Granger smiled enigmatically, shaking her head slightly.

"Let's get that tea ready, shall we?" she said, ignoring his question. Harry nodded, the bells in his head still ringing, and he had a feeling whatever it was that Mrs. Granger could 'see' he wouldn't like it.

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

XXX

"Hmm, it _is_ curious. Out of control magic…" She was silent for a moment, before nodding to herself. "Have you talked with any Unspeakables?" Hermione shook her head.

"No. I want this to stay between us. It wouldn't be good for Harry if the press even suspected anything. He'd go back to hiding away." Luna bit her lip, obviously deep in thought.

"I'm sure you and I can figure it out," she said slowly. "He had dreams last night?" Hermione nodded and sat down on her bed, motioning for Luna to sit next to her.

"It seemed horrible. I don't know why he hasn't gotten better. I mean, even I don't have dreams anymore." Luna tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

"That's a lie Hermione Granger. I know for a fact you still have dreams. We all do. Harry's are just…worse. He went through more than the rest of us. It would be silly to expect him to just live happily ever after." Hermione smiled at Luna before laying back, staring at the ceiling in silence.

After the war, many strange things had happened. Draco Malfoy stopped strutting around as if he owned the wizarding world. The Ministry became competent. Harry Potter hid himself away. Ron Weasley grew up and fell in love. Even Neville had found a job he loved, taking Professor Sprout's spot at Hogwarts when she decided to give up teaching. However, the oddest of all was the friendship that had formed between Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood.

After the war, it was quite obvious that they both had horrifying dreams about Malfoy Manor, and neither one of them wanted to talk about it with anyone. Hermione leaned on Harry for support every time she became overwhelmed, and Luna became increasingly depressed with each passing day. It had been chance that threw them together, really. At the time, Harry was working hard to become an Auror, and that meant he had to go off on missions that lasted for several days. Which meant that Hermione was left alone to deal with her fears.

To this day, Hermione didn't know why she went to Luna of all people when it became clear that she couldn't handle the dreams, the fear, and the paranoia on her own. But she was quite glad she did. There was no need to talk; they both knew how the other felt.

Slowly, they began visiting each other weekly, which turned into daily walks, and then one day, they just started talking. Hermione talked about her troubles with Ron, about work, and about Harry. Luna talked about all the magical creatures she was sure she'd find, about her father, and about her mother's old experiments and how she wanted to begin her own research. They discussed their hopes and dreams, their plans for the future, and Hermione found that she greatly enjoyed Luna's company.

In fact, after Harry, she considered Luna her closest friend.

"This morning he asked us about what you're hiding," Luna said suddenly, laying down as well, though her eyes were closed.

"What did you tell him?" Hermione asked, feeling slightly wary. She hadn't liked leaving Harry alone with Ron and Luna because she was sure that they'd tell him everything the moment he asked.

"We said that there's a reason everyone thinks something is going on between the two of you." At Luna's words, Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes. "He kept blushing, Hermione," Luna added, sounding odd, as if she was feeling smug. Hermione elbowed her. "You're right, it was probably just Wrackspurts," she said seriously.

If the war had never happened, if both she and Luna hadn't been at the mercy of the Malfoys and Bellatrix Lestrange, if they had gone to Hogwarts like any other student, Hermione would have argued. She would have pointed how ridiculous it was to believe in Wrackspurts as there was no proof, and Luna would point out how stubborn she was being—how hardheaded. Instead, Hermione just nodded, completely agreeing with her best friend.

"Oh yes. Harry's quite infested with them," she joked. Luna opened her eyes and shook her head, suddenly serious.

"I think Ron's right, Hermione. I honestly do." Hermione's eyes widened, and despite herself, she felt a bubble of hope form in her chest. For a brief moment, she was back in the tent, dancing with Harry…

"We should go downstairs. I think we've left the boys alone with my parents long enough," Hermione said quietly. Luna just gave her an unreadable look.

XXX

"You and Luna left us alone with your parents for quite some time," Harry whispered when she reached him. There was a smile on his face, but it almost seemed as if he didn't even notice it.

"Well, you were with my mum for quite some time. What did she say to you?" Harry shook his head.

"Nothing much, really. She just wanted to compliment me on my cake."

"Did you tell her you burned two before you got it right?" Harry looked at her incredulously.

"Luna swore she wouldn't say anything!" he cried. From the other side of the room, Mr. Granger was saying something to Ron, and the redhead was turning a bright red. "We should go to his rescue," Harry sighed, as if it was a great ordeal. He was about to walk away when Hermione grabbed his hand. Before she allowed herself to overthink it, she gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"T-thank you. For everything." Despite the fact Harry turned slightly red—Hermione idly wondered if he was thinking about that morning like she was—he gave her a lopsided grin, his eyes bright behind his glasses.

"I used _Fabula piano_, not _Lascivio_," he said with a light laugh.

"But _Lascivio_ is much—" She stopped talking when Harry just laughed even louder.

**Well, I hoped you liked it! Also, in case anyone was curious, both lascivio and fabula mean 'play' in Latin. **

**Let me know what you think!**


	8. Day Seven

Chapter Eight- Day Seven

"Perhaps he's imagining it?" Luna muttered, pushing away the book in front of her and running her fingers through her frazzled hair. Hermione turned to look at her, and she grinned.

"Yes, I'm sure he is. That's why I've woken up with a broken lamp four times now."

"Well, stop repairing it. Obviously, the lamp is just not meant to survive," Luna said, as close to sounding frustrated as she could. Hermione supposed that Luna had every reason to sound irritated. They had spent all day holed up in her office, researching any possible reason why Harry's magic was acting so erratically. "I don't understand why you don't wake up with flowers everywhere, or stuffed bears, or something equally happy." She rolled her eyes and flipped a page of the book in front of her idly. "But, _no_. This is Harry. He has to blow things up." Hermione laughed, and judging from the look on Luna's face, it wasn't appreciated.

"Well, in third year, he blew up his aunt because she made him…" Hermione trailed off, a sudden thought taking hold of her.

"Made him what? Hermione?"

"In all the time you've known Harry, what does he excel at?" Hermione asked, wondering if she was on to something. It would explain a lot, perhaps even the dreams.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts. Getting into trouble. Oh! He really excels at being oblivious," Luna laughed, actually giving Hermione a wink. She opened her mouth to respond, to let Luna know exactly what she was thinking, but then she just rolled her eyes. It wasn't worth it. It wasn't as if Luna would listen anyway. She and Ron were absolutely convinced they were right.

"He excels at holding everything _in_," Hermione said, watching Luna's eyes widen with satisfaction.

"You don't think…?"

"I do."

"But that would mean—"

"Exactly. The dreams."

"And he wouldn't—"

"—even know. Completely unintentional." Luna smiled in response, leaning back in her chair with relief. Hermione felt a sudden surge of affection for Luna. While Harry and Ron were by no means stupid, they never would have understood what was going on in her head. Harry only ever learned things he needed to survive, and Ron just wanted to scrape by. But Luna understood; Luna read the same books she had, had studied the same theories. They didn't waste time explaining things to one another. There just was no need to.

"Everything always happens to Harry, doesn't it?" Luna said suddenly, shaking her head. Hermione sobered at her words and felt the urge to go downstairs, pull Harry away from her father, and just give her green-eyed best friend a tight hug.

"Yeah. It does," she answered softly.

XXX

Harry looked at Mr. Granger warily, watching as he dug through boxes in the toolshed, searching for his old paintbrushes. Harry's general reluctance must have shown, because the older man sighed when he turned around and then he shook his head.

"You happily go around the country looking for bits of some madman's soul all because your Headmaster asked you, but you're not willing to help out with a few errands around the house?" he asked in a toneless voice. Harry nodded immediately.

"Well, I was a child then. Now I know better," Harry said, a small grin appearing on his face when Mr. Granger rolled his eyes.

"I'm not asking for anything extraordinary. There's just some painting, and perhaps a bit of remodeling. The kitchen needs work, son."

"Why not hire someone to do it?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Why not cast some spells and be done with it?" Mr. Granger countered. Harry frowned.

"Hermione doesn't like it. She says we should do as much as we can the muggle way. It 'keeps us closer to our roots.'"

"Well, there you go. Emma says I shouldn't waste money on hiring people to do things I could do myself." Harry laughed.

"_Can_ you do this yourself?" he asked. Mr. Granger shot him an ugly look, as if he was quite offended, but he immediately ruined the effect by grinning.

"Well, no. But between your magic and my brains, we can figure it out."

"What? I don't have brains? I'll have you know, _I _did all the work around the house when I lived with the Dursleys. I daresay I know even more than you." Mr. Granger raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? How about a wager, then?" Harry looked at Mr. Granger suspiciously, not liking how the older man's eyes glinted.

"What sort of wager?"

"We split the errands. Whoever finishes their half first wins." Harry crossed his arms at his chest, and considered the wager.

"Wins what, exactly?" he asked. Harry should have known it would be nothing good when Mr. Granger smirked at him.

"Well, if I win, you propose to Hermione before Emma and I leave for Australia." Harry swallowed, panic filling him.

"You and Mrs. Granger leave in a week!" he said in a squeak. Mr. Granger nodded.

"The two of you have been dating for over two years, Harry," he said in an infuriatingly calm manner. "Take it from someone who has a bit of experience with women: they won't wait forever. They have certain expectations, and they'll want those expectations to be met."

"You think Hermione _wants_ to get married?" Harry asked, a bitter taste in his mouth. Just the thought of Hermione marrying someone one day made his stomach twist, and his heart beat oddly. Mr. Granger gave him a searching look, and it was far too scrutinizing for Harry's taste.

"She's my _daughter_, Harry. No one knows her better than I do." It wasn't exactly an answer to his question, but the comment still made his heart rate skyrocket.

Ever since she had broken things off with Ron, she had been single. In fact, over the years—when he was having good days—she'd tease him about being perpetually single and he'd return the favor. It was a joke between them; they were two loners, content to only have each other.

But suddenly, it occurred to Harry that it would not always stay this way. Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Granger would go back to Australia. Harry would no longer have to pretend to be her boyfriend. One day, she would find someone and she'd settle down, have children, raise a family. He could understand all that, though. After all, that was a normal part of life.

What he couldn't understand was the sudden compression on his chest, the inability to breathe, the fear and panic, and most of all, the pain.

"She always seemed perfectly content," he muttered, referring to her status as a single. Mr. Granger, however, took it differently.

"She isn't going to spell out how she feels," he said. "That's not how Hermione works." Harry frowned, but he found himself nodding anyway.

"What if I win?" Harry asked slowly. Mr. Granger handed him a paintbrush and a hammer.

"If you win, son, I'll tell you why Emma hates you so much." Mr. Granger held out his hand, and for a moment, Harry stood still, just staring at it. Then, he slowly reached out and took Mr. Granger's hand, wondering if he'd actually mind losing the wager.

Frankly, he was both terrified and thrilled by the answer.

XXX

"Dammit!" Harry dropped the hammer and immediately began to suck on his smashed thumb. Mrs. Granger looked up from her book in interest when he had cursed, had smiled slightly—as if seeing Harry hammer his own finger was amusing—and then had gone right back to her book.

He inspected his finger and wrapped a hand towel around it, to stem the blood flow. After the War had ended, Harry had spent a great deal of time studying Healing. Potions that could relieve pain, salves that would stop blood loss, spells that could heal minor wounds. He had learned them only to find that he no longer had any reason to know them. After all, why would you need to know how to help someone who has been tortured with the Cruciatus Curse when everyone was safe and never had to worry about Unforgivables?

Harry sighed, and stood up, searching for his wand. When he and Mr. Granger had split up the work, he had been told not to use magic for anything. 'It wouldn't be fair,' Mr. Granger had said. Now, however, Harry had the sneaking suspicion that that was a load of bollocks.

Repainting the guest bedroom, and doing some work in the restroom upstairs—though Harry hadn't bothered to ask what that might entail—went to Mr. Granger. Fixing the cupboard in the kitchen, tending to the frozen garden, moving around the furniture to ensure the piano was no longer hidden away in the corner, changing all the light bulbs—here, Mr. Granger had made a rather sad joke about how many wizards it would take to change a single light bulb—and cleaning out the toolshed went to Harry.

What wasn't fair was that Mr. Granger was a cheater.

He picked up his wand from where it had rolled under the refrigerator and muttered a quick spell to stop his bleeding. Then, without bothering to feel even the slightest bit guilty about what he was going to do, Harry pointed his wand at the cupboard.

"'Don't use magic,' he says," Harry muttered under his breath. "'It wouldn't be fair.' All of this so I'll propose to Hermione? He's a cheat. A cheat and a liar. And two can play at that—"

"Harry?" Harry whirled around, forgetting that the hammer was still on the floor where he'd dropped it after hammering his own finger, and he tripped on it, falling forward—face first.

"_Merlin_, Hermione! Give a bloke a warning," he moaned, rubbing his head as he sat up. From the doorway, Hermione looked rather amused, and frankly, Harry didn't think she had any reason to be. He was only in this mess because of her.

"Were you talking to yourself?" she asked, her lips twitching as if she was fighting a grin.

"No. I was talking to Patrick, my long time friend. He's a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Harry deadpanned as he gestured to the empty chair next to him. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Luna would be ashamed. You _know_ they only live in Norway," she said seriously. Then, as if talking about the imaginary creatures had summoned her, Luna appeared behind Hermione, her arms crossed at her chest.

"I don't think either of you are particularly funny," she said calmly. Harry grinned at her apologetically, feeling slightly guilty.

Around the time Harry had finally given up on being an Auror—something he stubbornly pursued for a great deal of time before admitting it was making him unhappy—and Hermione had been promoted for the first time, landing her a position high up in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Luna had left the country, deciding to travel the world and find those magical creatures she and her father so ardently believed in. The results of that trip, however, were depressing.

Though she had discovered a great deal of magical creatures—and had published a book along with Rolf Scamander, the grandson of the great Newt Scamander, the man who had authored _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_—she had realized that the Crumple-Horned Snorkack was not real, as were most of the creatures she and grown up hearing about. Harry had thought that she would take it hard, that it would hurt her, but Luna was far stronger than he ever gave her credit for. She had taken the news with grace, and had decided to focus on what was real and tangible. In fact, she and Rolf were hard at work on another book, and she often made jokes about the creatures she once believed to be real.

"Both of you should be ashamed," Luna continued, shaking her head sadly. "I mean, honestly? I'm sure that I've explained that the Snorkacks live in _Sweden." _Hermione laughed, but Harry shot Luna a glare, now angry that she had made him feel guilty.

"What do the two of you want? I'm busy."

"I can see that," Hermione said, staring at the lopsided cupboard, and the bloody hand towel. "But what're you doing?"

"Your father gave me a list of things to do around the house," Harry said accusingly, as if it was Hermione's fault. "And he said I can't use magic."

"And you listened to him?" Luna asked, a grin on her face. From her spot in front of the fire, Mrs. Granger looked up from her book, raised her eyebrow, and then continued reading. Harry scowled.

"He has Mrs. Granger keeping watch," he muttered, making Hermione and Luna both laugh. Harry ignored them, picked up the hammer—pushing away his desire to throw it at the blasted cupboard—and set to work again, knowing Mr. Granger was probably nearly done with his half of the work, and that he'd have to fake a proposal to Hermione within the next seven days…

Harry blushed, and though he kept his eyes on his work, he listened to Hermione and Luna chat away about crooked cupboards intently. Every single time Hermione said something or laughed, his heart fluttered—though he couldn't pinpoint why.

He was obviously nervous. Once again, thoughts about making the (fake) proposal perfect surfaced, and he felt overwhelmed. But there was also this new feeling—this sort of fire that had been awakened in him—that wanted to make sure that even if Hermione did finally meet someone one day who she'd marry, she would never forget his—Harry's—proposal.

"Harry? Why are you scowling?" Luna asked him suddenly, making him drop the hammer. He blushed once more, knowing that Hermione was staring at him, and feeling rather warm for some reason.

"I was—" but he never had to make up a reason. At that moment, Mr. Granger bounded into the kitchen, a wide grin on his face. A combination of dread and butterflies filled Harry's stomach.

"Well then, Mr. Potter," the older man said, eying Harry's handiwork with a smirk, "it appears you were mistaken."

"No, I was just tricked," Harry muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear him. Rather than deny such a thing, Mr. Granger laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

"Oh, son, it's quite alright. Losing never hurt anyone."

"I didn't lose," Harry said stubbornly. Luna and Hermione were watching the exchange with interest, though they did look slightly confused.

"You did lose. I hope you won't forget about our little wager," Mr. Granger said patronizingly, grinning when Harry scowled.

"Wager? What wager?" Hermione asked suspiciously, looking from Harry to Mr. Granger.

"Nothing, darling. Just some friendly competition," Mr. Granger said calmly. Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she didn't comment. Luna, however, seemed to know exactly what was going on, and she had a small smile on her face.

"You know, I think Ron is expecting me. We're going out for dinner tonight," she said happily, ignoring Hermione's suspicious glare. Harry heaved a sigh of relief, thinking that maybe Luna would leave without saying anything, that she wouldn't tease him. But then: "You'd better start planning, Harry," she said with a wink. Hermione looked like someone had conked her on the head, and Mr. Granger was looking at the three of them knowingly. Harry, on the other hand, slapped his palm against his forehead.

"I hope your dinner is awful," Harry muttered when Luna rushed forward to hug him goodbye. She just laughed.

XXX

They sat side-by-side on her bed, shoulders touching, with their backs against the headboard. Harry's legs were stretched out and crossed at his ankles, but she sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her fingers tapping her shins nervously.

She hadn't been planning on telling him what she and Luna had discovered. Honestly, she was going to wait until she had a clearer understanding of the issue, and how to fix it. Of course, that was before she had seen the genuine fear in Harry's eyes as he got ready for bed. So she had asked him to sit next to her, knowing that she had to tell him and praying that she was right about the whole thing. She didn't want to give him hope only to shatter it if it turned out she was mistaken.

"What's your favorite color?" Harry asked before she could muster the courage to start talking. Hermione turned to him, surprised by the random question.

"What?"

"Your favorite color? What is it?" She blinked.

"I like green." Harry nodded, though he looked flustered.

"Like Slytherin green?" he asked distastefully, as if he couldn't believe she'd have such a stupid favorite color. Hermione laughed.

"No. Slytherin green is dark. I like bright green, like grass, or y—" she stopped, deciding that Harry didn't need to know anymore. Thankfully, he didn't look like he had noticed her slight slip of tongue because he just nodded thoughtfully.

"Why didn't you choose to be Sorted into Ravenclaw?" he asked suddenly. Hermione's mouth fell open in shock.

"H-how did you—"

"Know? You mentioned it once. In fifth year, I think." She felt strangely touched that he had remembered such an unimportant tidbit, and she also was quite confused. However, she wasn't sure if she wanted to divulge the information either, even if he was her best friend.

"I'd read all about the Houses, what they valued, and I desperately wanted Gryffindor," she finally said. It was partially true; she _had_ known all about the four Houses before she even got on the Hogwarts Express the first time, but she had wanted to be Sorted into Ravenclaw. That is, until she stepped into the Great Hall for the first time. She couldn't quite explain it, but she had just somehow _known_ she didn't belong in Ravenclaw. So when the Sorting Hat deliberated between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, she had actually asked for Gryffindor.

Needless to say, she was quite glad of that choice.

"You know, the Hat thought I'd do well in Slytherin. I asked it not to Sort me there." Hermione was surprised; Harry had never mentioned this. She tried to imagine Harry as a Slytherin—what he'd be like or who'd he be friends with—and she couldn't do it. "'It is our choices that show us what we truly are, far more than our abilities,'" Harry said softly. Hermione bit her lip, thinking that this was as good a segue as she'd get.

"Harry, Luna and I were researching, and we think we know why your magic is out of control." Harry turned to her, and his green eyes were dull behind his glasses. She had never seen him look so defeated.

"Oh? Am I actually mad?"

"No, Harry, of course not. You're just really bad at Occlumency." Harry blinked, and frowned.

"I'm sorry, _what_?" Hermione turned so that she was completely facing Harry, and she unconsciously grabbed one of his hands, holding it tightly between her own.

"You're really bad at Occlumency. That's what's causing all your problems. Even the dreams." For a moment, there was a flash of hope in his eyes, but it died as soon as it came, and he looked weary.

"Hermione—"

"Wait! Hear me out. What is Occlumency?"

"Shielding your mind from an outside attack," Harry answered tonelessly. Hermione took that in stride and nodded, tightening her hold on his hand.

"Yes, but not exactly. Occlumency is shielding your mind from _any_ attack."

"But Hermione, I _can't_ do Occlumency. Remember? I never learned it." Hermione shook her head.

"That's not true. You managed to fight Snape off at least once, right?"

"Well, yeah—"

"So you _did_ learn it. And without knowing it, you've been practicing it for seven years." Harry actually laughed at that, shaking his head.

"I'd think I'd know if I was trying to raise mental shields, Hermione. I'm not _that_ stupid." She tutted impatiently, but otherwise ignored his comment.

"The strength of most spells are determined by your emotions, right?" she asked, backtracking a bit, to give Harry a clearer idea of what she was trying to say. Harry nodded, his eyes getting this faraway look.

"I remember Bellatrix saying you have to feel the hatred to cast an Unforgivable." Hermione shuddered at the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange and Unforgivables, but she nodded.

"Exactly. You must feel love and hope to cast a Patronus, and you use laughter—amusement—to defeat a boggart. Emotions are incredibly important when it comes to magic."

"But what does that have to do with anything?" Harry asked miserably, as if he was already tired of the conversation.

"A great deal, I'm afraid," she said softly, hating that look on his face and wishing she could just take all his pain away. It wasn't fair that he had to lose so much, give up so much, and still be haunted by things that were beyond his control. "After the War, you put aside what you were feeling to help me. You pushed everything away—your anger, your guilt, your pain—and you were there for me."

"Hermione—" Harry began, but she held up her hand, unwilling to be interrupted now that she had gotten this far.

"Your mind considered those emotions a form of attack—you were afraid of feeling anything, and you put up shields around those emotions. Do you understand? You've been blocking off a part of yourself for seven years!" Harry raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I'll admit that I pushed away what I was feeling at first, but I haven't done that for ages." He looked so smug, as if he actually knew what he was talking about. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Alright, let me explain it to you another way." She bit her lip, thinking about a good analogy. "A piano!" she said, grinning. Harry frowned, looking dubious. "It's like learning a piece on the piano. At first, you have to practice—learn the notes, figure out where your fingers go. At first it's very difficult. But over time, playing the piece becomes almost second nature to you. You can play it without the notes, you can even play it with your eyes closed. It becomes almost instinctual." Harry's frown was gone, and he looked a bit surprised, and Hermione knew she had finally gotten her point across.

"So…you think that in order to cope, I pushed away my emotions, and did it so often that it became second nature? That I've been using Occlumency for seven years without realizing it?" Hermione nodded.

"Yes, exactly." Harry looked at her for a minute and then laughed.

"None of that makes any sense!" he said, shaking his head. "And that doesn't explain the dreams at all."

"But it does! If Luna and I are right, it means you're having those dreams for a reason—"

"Yeah, because I'm traumatized by the War," Harry said, his voice cold.

"And no one else was?" She took a deep breath, knowing that antagonizing him would do nothing to help her. "Harry, maybe you're right. Maybe this is all psychological wounds, and maybe your dreams are just reflecting that. But what if it's not? What if you have the dreams _because_ you've put up shields?" Harry studied her for a moment and then sighed.

"Let's say that you and Luna are right. How does that explain the magic?"

"No one can run away from what they're feeling. Even the best Occlumens can't put up mental shields forever. That was why it was so dangerous for Snape to spend so much time on Voldemort's arm. His shields could have slipped at any moment, and he'd have been killed." Harry was silent for a moment, and then he nodded.

"So you're saying that my shields are coming down?" Hermione winced.

"I'm saying that there are cracks. I think you've created such strong shields that it would take a great deal of time for it to crumble on its own. But it has started. And that's why your magic is acting up. You're having these bursts of emotions."

"So what can I do to hurry this up? To bring it all down and get it over with?" Hermione shrugged.

"I don't know. Luna thinks that if you try and embrace everything you've run away from, it'll break down the walls. But there's also a chance that you'd just have to let it slowly break down on its own, because tearing down the walls all at once could release a great deal of magic which, well…" she trailed off, tears forming in her eyes.

"Which could kill me, right?" She nodded miserably, her heart actually aching. Everything seemed to happen to Harry. And it just wasn't fair. "What do you think, Hermione?" he asked, squeezing her hand gently. She took a deep breath.

"I think that you have to break the shield apart, piece by piece. Not all at once, but in large chunks."

"And how do I do that?"

"Figure out what you've pushed away. And then, one by one, face them head on." Harry nodded slowly, a spark of determination in his eyes.

"Right," he said under his breath. "This should be easy." With a grin, he held out his free hand—just as he had done the night before her mother's birthday—and looked at her expectantly. Hesitantly, Hermione took it and found herself wrapped in Harry's embrace, his chin resting on her head as he held her tightly. "Have I ever told you that you're the most brilliant person I've ever met?" he asked softly. Hermione didn't answer him. Instead, she smiled into his neck, wondering if Ron and Luna were right after all.

**Whoa, this was a hard one…as always, thank you so very much for all the reviews, favorites, and follows. All of you guys are awesome! **

**Also, a quick response to bet7368: I don't like Ginny very much either, but she will eventually be in this story. She plays an important role. **

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! **


	9. Day Eight

Chapter Nine- Day Eight

"Shut it, Ron," Harry muttered, grimacing. It wasn't that he didn't like the Weasley's—they were his family, and he loved them all—it was just that there were certain people he did _not_ want to see.

Ginny, in particular.

"I didn't say anything!" Ron protested, laughing. Harry glared at his best mate, not appreciating the laughter.

"You didn't have to. I know what you're thinking. And it's not funny."

"Oh? And you can read minds now?"

"You have no subtlety, Weasley. You do not understand fine distinctions. Only muggles talk of 'mind-reading'. The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Weasley...or at least, most minds are..." Harry said loftily. Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Are you channeling Snape?"

"Verbatim, too," Harry said, grinning.

"Now I _know_ you've spent too much time with Hermione," Ron muttered, shaking his head. Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair, suddenly nervous. The very _thought_ of Hermione was making him feel…honestly, he wasn't sure what it was that he was feeling.

"Speaking of Hermione…" Harry began, wondering if he should even tell Ron about the supposed accidental Occlumency. It wasn't that he didn't trust his best mate—he did—but there were lingering doubts. Harry hadn't forgotten fourth year, when Ron refused to believe him about the tournament, and he certainly hadn't forgotten Ron's lack of faith in him during the Horcrux hunt. And he would _never_ forget how Ron and abandoned him and Hermione when they needed him the most. He sighed again, playing with his cup of tea. "She and Luna seem to think there's a reason for my magic and the dreams." Ron frowned, looking away.

The cupboard was still crooked. Mr. Granger had jokingly said that Harry was absolutely useless, and then had said he'd take care of it. When Mr. Granger went out to the toolshed, Harry had done what he had wanted to do from the beginning: he threw the hammer at the cupboard—which meant there was also a hole. Harry stared at it for a moment, turning away when Ron began to speak.

"Luna talked to me," Ron said slowly, obviously unsure about how Harry would take the news. "She told me about the whole Occlumency thing. I think it makes sense. But…" Ron trailed off, shaking his head.

"But what?"

"Look, this is good news. But I don't think you should get your hopes up."

"You think they're wrong?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes. What bothered him most was that he sort of agreed…

"No. They're right. It's just…the dreams. I don't think your 'mental shields' are causing the dreams." Harry stared at Ron for a moment, shocked into silence.

"What?" he finally managed to say, unsure he had heard correctly.

"Look, _I_ have dreams all the time. And I didn't go through half the things you did." He paused and drained his tea. "Luna says that you've blocked off emotions you're afraid of confronting. She said that you're not getting the dreams because you have the shields, but the dreams are causing the shields to come down."

"I don't understand," Harry said. Ron suddenly grinned.

"I didn't either. Luna spent an hour explaining to me." An affectionate look appeared on his face, and Harry felt a sudden flare of jealousy. "The dreams are making you confront the emotions you've pushed away, whatever they may be. And because of that, 'holes' are appearing in your shields."

"Hermione said they'd fall apart anyway."

"Yes, but knowing you, it would take a great deal of time. You've always been hardheaded." Harry ran his fingers through his hair again, feeling awful.

"I hated Occlumency when Snape taught it to me. I _still_ hate Occlumency," he said miserably, propping his elbows up on the table and holding his head in his hands. Ron didn't say anything for so long that Harry was sure the conversation was over. But then he felt Ron nudge his shoulder.

"I know Luna and Hermione want you to 'embrace' what you've pushed away, and tear down the shields in chunks…but Harry, please don't." Harry looked up and stared at Ron in confusion.

"Why? Don't you trust them? Don't you think they're right?"

"I do! But, I don't think getting your magic under control is worth losing your life if you can't bring down the shields correctly. Eventually they'll fall apart. Just wait it out."

"So you're saying you don't have faith in me," Harry said, feeling angry suddenly. Immediately, Ron put his hands in the air.

"I do have faith in you! I _do_." He shook his head and looked weary all of a sudden. "I don't know. It's just that Luna isn't so sure about this whole idea, and better safe than sorry, yeah?" Harry thought back to Hermione.

He hadn't known her favorite color, and he had called himself her best friend for nearly fifteen years. He hadn't known why she chose Gryffindor, he didn't know her favorite food or time of year, he hadn't even known she played the piano until Mrs. Granger had told him. So maybe Ron was right. Hermione hadn't seemed exactly sure of herself the night before. Perhaps it would be best to be safe and just let the walls come down on their own—be that weeks, months, or years from now.

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes, wishing that he was eleven again. Despite the three-headed dog, Norbert, and a DADA teacher who was carrying Voldemort around on the back of his head, things had been relatively simple. Back then he didn't have to worry about accidentally shutting away parts of himself.

"I miss Fluffy," Harry said out loud. Ron must have understood, because he grinned and clapped him on the back.

"Well, on the bright side, you get to see Ginny tonight!"

"Shut it, Ron," Harry groaned, rather annoyed by his best mate's raucous laughter.

XXX

Seven-year-old Teddy Lupin rammed into Harry with all the force the little boy could muster, and all he got for his efforts was a surprised laugh.

Hermione smiled slightly as she watched Harry light up when the normally shy and quiet Teddy began to chat away about everything that had happened to him since he'd last seen his godfather. He talked about Quidditch games his grandmother had taken him to, about the newest book he had read, and the prank wand that George had given him. Harry nodded along seriously, obviously listening intently to the boy's every word.

Harry had not taken Tonks and Remus's death well at all. In fact, their deaths had haunted him more than Sirius's, or even Dumbledore's. In the weeks following the battle, Harry hadn't even expressed the desire to see Teddy, and whenever she or Ron mentioned him or Andromeda, Harry would stiffen and walk away.

She didn't know what had happened, exactly, that changed all that. At the time, she was preparing to go locate her parents, and McGonagall kept her busy with the rebuilding of Hogwarts. Even Kingsley seemed to require her help. Between her own inability to cope with the aftermath of the War, and all the work she did, she had never had the chance to ask Harry about what had happened. And of course, it seemed silly to ask about it now.

The change in attitude towards Teddy had, however, been one of the main reasons that he didn't get along with Ginny very well anymore. Hermione had witnessed far too many of their fights to blame him.

Harry believed that it was his duty as Teddy's godfather to play an active role in the boy's life. He wanted it to be different from his own upbringing, so he made sure to put aside time once every few weeks to spend a day devoted entirely to the boy, and that was in addition to all the times he just visited for lunch or dinner.

To her credit, Ginny had been patient. She hadn't complained when Harry skipped out on their dates to visit Teddy because he had a slight fever, or when Harry had forgotten her birthday, yet remembered every single one of Teddy's favorite books. But eventually, it had become too much to handle. The weekly visits to all those who had died fighting Voldemort, the depression, and the realization that Harry had long since stopped confiding in her, had hurt Ginny.

What Hermione _hadn't_ known until recently was just _how_ _much_ it had hurt Ginny.

"Is that Teddy Lupin?" her mother asked, leaning closer to her. Hermione nodded as they began to walk towards the Weasley home. "He looks just like Harry! I thought he was Harry's son!" she said, shaking her head. Hermione laughed and turned back to Teddy. He did look like Harry—the messy jet-black hair, the startling green eyes—only the glasses were missing.

"Teddy's a Metamorphmagus," Hermione said calmly. "He can change his appearance at will," she explained when her parents both looked confused. "He tends to channel his godfather whenever Harry is around. Mostly because it makes Harry laugh." Sure enough, Harry ruffled Teddy's hair and was grinning like mad.

"Harry spends a lot of time with him?" her father asked, watching as Harry picked Teddy up and carried him on his shoulders.

"Oh, yes, he—" but she never got to finish her statement. At that moment, Molly Weasley rushed out of the house.

"Oh, there you are, Teddy! We've been looking everywhere for you!" she said before smiling at Harry. "Harry, it's good to see you again. And Hermione! Come along, come along." Hermione took advantage of Mrs. Weasley's sudden appearance and her parents' shock to sidle over to Harry and Teddy.

"Talking about me, were you?" Harry asked with a grin. Teddy nodded seriously.

"Harry says your mum and dad don't like him, Hermione." She rolled her eyes.

"Harry was also the one who convinced you to eat all the horrible Bertie Botts flavors," she said, laughing when Harry gave her a look of mock hurt. "Remember what we decided, Teddy?" The little boy nodded as he jumped off Harry's back and onto the snow.

"We decided not to trust Harry."

"You've turned my godson against me!" Harry cried, putting a hand over his heart. Teddy crossed his arms at his chest, and shook his head solemnly.

"You did make me eat a vomit flavored bean," he said, as if Harry should have expected nothing less. Hermione laughed and was surprised when Teddy hugged her tightly for a moment before rushing off with a yell about treacle tart.

"I get a hug?" she said slowly. Teddy was incredibly reserved except with the people closest to him. While he had never been exactly distant with her, he had certainly never given her a hug.

"Well, you do see him without me sometimes. Eventually he'd warm up to you." Hermione frowned at him.

"How did you know I see him?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Harry laughed.

"Teddy told me," he said simply, shrugging. They turned around and saw Mrs. Weasley was still speaking animatedly with her parents, so they slowed slightly. "You know you don't have to do something like that for me—" Harry began, but Hermione shook her head.

"I'm not doing it for you. I liked Remus. He was the only one who knew how I felt whenever I was called mudblood." Unconsciously, she rubbed her forearm. "He understood."

"Yeah, Remus did understand, didn't he." It wasn't a question.

"And, you know, it doesn't hurt that Andromeda has the greatest personal library I've ever seen." She said it mostly because she felt uncomfortable with the somber turn their conversation had taken, but she hadn't expected Harry to laugh.

"Only you," he said, still slightly chuckling. "Only you."

XXX

So far, he had avoided Ginny four times. Once, he had been talking to George about a new product he was working on when he noticed Ginny walking purposefully towards him. So he'd left George mid-sentence and managed to seek refuge in the loo.

The second time, he was talking to Luna about her thoughts on the shields, when Ron waved his hands wildly, alerting him to the fact Ginny was approaching from behind. Harry had rushed to the kitchen and used Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger as a buffer.

After the third time—he had to duck behind the stairs to avoid her—he practically glued himself to Hermione's side. But that hadn't been a good idea.

"So. Dating for two years, eh? Couldn't bother to let the rest of us know?" Bill had said when he saw them. Fleur had shaken her head at her husband and then looked at them apologetically.

"I think zis is good news. I am 'appy for you 'Arry, 'Ermione." Of course, that had been one of the better conversations.

Arthur had seemed genuinely happy, but Molly didn't, and she pursed her lips every time he barely brushed Hermione. Andromeda—though supposedly happy for them—had said that it wasn't right to hide a relationship, and it 'certainly wasn't healthy.' Then there was Neville.

"How _could_ you?" he had asked them. Hermione had looked confused, but Harry felt like he knew what was coming. "Don't you care how stupid the rest of us feel when we find out you've been dating for two years and none of us figured it out? Merlin. I didn't know you two were so _selfish_."

"Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?" Hermione had asked curiously, causing Neville to blush.

"McGonagall gave me the night off." After that, he had been completely friendly, even letting it slip that many of their friends had placed bets on when the two of them would get together. Oddly, when Hermione just laughed and called such a thing 'ridiculous' Harry had felt discouraged and disappointed. Which had lasted just a second because he had spotted Ginny once more, and he decided that Hermione was no longer giving him the protection he needed.

For the last half hour, though, he'd been safe. He and Teddy were playing chess, and Mr. Granger was on Teddy's 'team,' telling him where to move each piece. What was embarrassing was that Harry was losing miserably.

And his godson was enjoying that fact far too much.

"Is Hermione…arguing?" Mr. Granger suddenly asked. Harry turned around and was shocked. Rather than come after him a fifth time, it seemed Ginny was making do with Hermione.

"I'll take care of it," he said softly. He weaved through the crowded room—waving off Percy's question, not really in the mood to talk to _him_—and was about to go to Hermione's aid when he heard Ginny say his name rather harshly.

"—_Harry_. I hope you know what you're doing." Harry moved slightly so that he was hidden behind a door, still able to clearly hear the conversation, and see them—ready to rush in if it seemed as if Hermione needed him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione said coolly, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Really? C'mon Hermione. We're friends. I mean, you _know_ Harry doesn't love you." Hermione quirked an eyebrow, but she didn't respond. "I mean, honestly?"

"Honestly what? What do you want me to say, Ginny?"

"Let me put it this way: when has he _ever_ taken _your_ side? When has he stood by you, supported you? Why put yourself through pain?" Hermione looked as if Ginny had physically hit her, and Harry was utterly shocked that Ginny would even say anything of the sort.

And yet, he found it difficult to argue with what she said.

"You don't understand him! The War is over, he doesn't need you anymore." Hermione's eyes flashed at Ginny's words.

"Do friends usually say things like this to one another?" Hermione asked tonelessly, her face suddenly a mask.

"I'm not trying to be cruel."

"Well, you have a funny way of showing that," Hermione said coldly, her head held high. "My relationship with Harry is none of your concern. What we do, what we say, and how we feel is none of your concern. Whether or not Harry and I belong together or need one another is _none of your concern_." Ginny momentarily looked chastised, but then she shook her head stubbornly.

"What Harry and I had—"

"—lasted a few months before he broke it off," Hermione interrupted, her voice still cold. "Frankly, though, I thought our friendship was far more important to you. I didn't realize I was just a way for you to get to Harry."

"Hermione—"

"No. I don't want to hear anymore. Maybe you're right. Maybe you and Harry are meant to be. But you should have enough respect for me—someone you call a friend—to keep it to yourself." A look of disgust appeared on Hermione's stony features, and she shook her head. "And you should definitely have enough respect for yourself to not act like such a ridiculous little girl. You sound like a silly child." Hermione turned to walk away, and Harry was sure the conversation was over, but then Ginny spoke up one last time.

"Are you so angry because you don't think I'm a good friend, or is it because you know that it's true? That he hasn't stood by you?"

Hermione didn't even deign to answer. Harry watched as she walked calmly away, acting as if nothing had happened. She might not have answered Ginny's question, but she didn't need to. Harry already knew exactly why she was so angry.

He wanted to rush after Hermione, but he couldn't. It was true; he consistently took other people's advice over Hermione's. He took her for granted, expecting her help when he was in a jam, but never once taking her side.

When Ron made fun of her in first year, when she was teased about liking Lockhart, when Scabbers—Peter—had supposedly been eaten, the Firebolt, Ron and the Yule Ball, going to the Ministry to save Sirius, the Half-Blood Prince's book…Harry ran his fingers through his hair. Perhaps most of them he could blame on being young and stupid. But Ron's behavior during the Yule Ball? He hadn't cared about Krum, and he certainly hadn't agreed with Ron, but he had kept silent because he didn't want to lose Ron again—he hadn't spoken up for the one person who had stood by him.

Harry closed his eyes, suddenly hating himself.

XXX

Harry Potter had his flaws. She knew that better than anyone. But Ginny was wrong.

No, Harry didn't stand up for her when she argued with Ron, but he was the one who would stay awake at night, ready to rush in if she had dreams. No, he didn't take her side all that often, but he was the one who danced with her in the tent, trying to cheer her up.

He had his flaws, as did she—as do all people. The reason that she was his best friend, the reason that had remained true for nearly fifteen years, was that she knew his flaws and accepted them—just as he had done for her. So she wasn't going to let Ginny's sudden desire to get Harry back tarnish her friendship with him.

Because Ginny was wrong. Right?

XXX

Harry sat up quietly, and stared at Hermione. Before he could chicken out, he silently walked over to her, and kneeled by the bed, listening to her soft snores. She seemed so peaceful that Harry couldn't believe just a few hours ago he had seen that same face contort in disgust.

When they had gotten home—was it odd he now considered Hermione's house his home?—he had felt complete relief. The entire evening, except for seeing Teddy, had been absolutely horrifying, and he had hated each second of it.

He thought back to earlier that morning, when Ron had suggested he not take Hermione's advice, and he realized he agreed somewhat. Better safe than sorry. It made sense. But after thinking, Harry had changed his mind—and was quite willing to admit that the decision had been influenced by Ginny's statements to Hermione. He sighed, and inched slightly closer.

"Hermione—I…I'm too much of a bloody coward to tell you this when you're awake…" he trailed off, unsure how to continue. "Ginny…Ginny is wrong. Well—she may have a point about the whole 'not standing up for you' thing, but she's wrong." He blinked, realizing he was confusing even himself. "You're my best friend. And I will always need you. Without you—well, honestly, I can't imagine you not being around." He wanted to say more, but he didn't know what to say. How could he explain his overwhelming need for her calming presence? How was he supposed to say what he felt about her when words just didn't seem to be enough?

What could he say when he didn't even understand his relationship with her? They were best friends, but they were more than that. No one can go through what they went through and just be best friends. They were family. No, it was more. It was different. What was it? What was _it_?

He had once told Ron he loved her like a sister. And he had told Mr. Granger he loved her, had always loved her in some way…Without really thinking about it, Harry leaned over and lightly kissed her on the forehead, and said the words that made the most sense to him.

"You know I love you, right Hermione?" Still sound asleep, she turned over to her other side. Harry chuckled. "Good answer."

**Right, so I thought this would be as good a time as any to rant a little about my views on Ginny and others. I don't particularly like Ginny because she was just never fleshed out as a character. I hated how in one book she's a fangirl, and the next, Harry seems to have fallen for her. You don't wake up one morning and think, 'Hmm, I think I love my best mate's little sister.' But I don't mind her, not really. I can live with the whole Ginny/Harry thing. What I can't stand at all is Hermione and Ron. That makes no sense to me. Frankly, the way I see it, Ron is too stupid for her. (Please note that Hermione is my absolute favorite character, so I'm quite defensive of her). Perhaps Harry doesn't make the best match for her—and I think I've addressed that in this chapter—but Harry's better than anyone else. **

**Other than that, I like all the canon relationships. Luna and Rolf—hey, did anyone catch that in the last chapter?—or Neville and Hannah, Draco and Astoria, George and Angelina—though I find that a bit odd considering Fred dated her at one point in the books—etc. I think they're all great. Just definitely not Ron and Hermione. **

**Anyway, rant over. **

**Thanks to all of you who read, follow, review, and/or favorite this story! Knowing what you think means a lot to me, so thank you! I hope you liked this chapter. **


	10. Day Nine

**So, it took me ten chapters to realize that I never wrote a disclaimer. But I mean, you all know I'm not Rowling and that I don't own Harry Potter, right? (Yeah, I know, you'd never have guessed!) Anyway, totally not Rowling. She's a far better writer than I could ever hope to be. **

**On to the story!**

Chapter Ten- Day Nine

_He was sitting in Dumbledore's office, ready to learn more about Voldemort's past, to discover how he could possibly defeat the Darkest wizard of all time as a measly sixteen-year-old with meager magical training. _

"_I hear that you met the Minister of Magic over Christmas" Dumbledore said softly, looking at him with those twinkling blue eyes. He nodded._

"_Yes. He's not very happy with me," he said, not really all that upset about the fact. Dumbledore sighed almost theatrically. _

"_No, he is not very happy with me either. We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, Harry, but battle on." Harry grinned. He and Dumbledore discussed Fudge's plan to use him as the Ministry's poster boy, and then, thinking very little of it, Harry mentioned Scrimgeour's 'insult.'_

"_He accused me of being 'Dumbledore's man through and through.'"_

"_How very rude of him."_

"_I told him I was," Harry continued. He was rather surprised to see that Dumbledore's eyes actually watered…_

Harry's eyes shot open, and he sat up in his bed in shock, his heart hammering against his chest in a frenzy. He had practically forgotten that conversation with Dumbledore. After all, so many years had passed since then, so many truths had surfaced to make him question his unwavering loyalty to the Headmaster, that he had pushed away the memory of how touched Dumbledore had seemed. But now, as he remembered his relationship with Dumbledore—that almost grandfatherly figure the older man had been—Harry felt rather guilty.

Once a month, he visited the graves of each person that had died fighting Voldemort and his followers at Hogwarts. Yet not once did he ever visit his Headmaster's grave.

Harry shook his head and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He was in no mood to think about Dumbledore. He had to worry about his wager with Mr. Granger, Mrs. Granger's apparent aversion to him, the shields around his emotions, and his newfound feelings of guilt and shame—and something else he wasn't quite sure he wanted to contemplate—towards Hermione.

He had no time for Dumbledore.

With that pleasant thought, he grimaced and stood, glancing at Hermione briefly—she seemed so calm and peaceful, and it made him want to smile—before he began to get ready for the day.

When he reached the kitchen, he was surprised to see Mr. Granger already sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a newspaper in the other. He looked up when Harry entered.

"Toast?" he said, pointing to a plate stacked with toast. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You're up early, Mr. Granger. Usually, I'm the only one awake at this hour. It's barely even dawn." Mr. Granger put the paper down and shrugged.

"I thought this was the best time to talk to you. You know, without Emma breathing down my neck."

"Talk to me?" Harry repeated, not liking how ominous that sounded. He picked up a piece of toast, and bit into it, chewing nervously as Mr. Granger gave him a weary look.

"How close are you to Ginny Weasley?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. Harry choked on his breakfast, utterly shocked by the question.

"W-what?" he managed to say.

"You heard me." Harry blinked and then sighed.

"Not very close at all. After we broke up, I only saw her once a year during Christmas at the Burrow." He paused, wondering if he should try and elaborate. "You have to understand, Mr. Granger, Ginny didn't _like_ being with me. After all, I reminded her of what she had lost."

"What d'you mean?"

"One of her brothers, F—" he stopped, unable to say the name. "He died during the battle at Hogwarts. I think she wanted to try and forget, but she couldn't do that when she saw me everyday." Mr. Granger looked thoughtful, but then he shook his head.

"Emma tells me that Molly is under the impression that you and her daughter are just on a 'break' and that you'll eventually marry Ginny." At that, Harry laughed.

"Mrs. Weasley is a good woman. But she can be, well, she can be a bit overbearing. She fought against Bill's marriage to Fleur for quite some time before she had to accept the fact that they loved each other and would get married with or without her approval." Harry smiled at the thought of the nosy and overprotective woman, the woman who had never treated him as anything less than a son.

"So she doesn't like Hermione?"

"What? No, of course she likes Hermione!"

"Then I don't understand why she just can't be happy for you two. Have you given her reason to doubt your love for Hermione?" Harry's eyes widened and he shook his head immediately.

"Mr. Granger, of course not!"

"So Ginny Weasley is delusional?"

"Ginny Weasley can't get over the fact that I'm _Harry bloody Potter_," Harry snapped, feeling rather angry now. Mr. Granger raised a single eyebrow, and he leaned back in his chair, staring at Harry intently. "You know what she told me the first time we broke up, after Dumbledore's death?" Harry didn't wait for Mr. Granger to answer, he just continued. "_I never really gave up on you. Not really."_ His face twisted into a scowl as he thought about those words, and he refused to go into any more detail. Instead, he slumped against his chair.

"Oh, the woes of the famous," Mr. Granger said with a teasing grin. "You always have all these people clamoring to be your friend. I'm sure it's been _quite_ the bother." Despite himself, Harry laughed, shaking his head.

"Make fun all you want, Mr. Granger. But I never asked for fame, and I certainly never wanted it." He sighed. "If I could, I'd give it all away in a heartbeat." Mr. Granger looked at him like he was insane, and then he chuckled.

"You're absolutely mad, son," he said, shaking his head. Somehow, though, Harry could tell that he didn't mean it.

XXX

Harry was humming happily as he cooked pancakes when Hermione shuffled into the kitchen, looking as if she hadn't slept at all the night before. Without waiting for her to say anything, he gently pushed her into a chair, set a cup of tea in front of her, and then pushed a plate of pancakes towards her, before sitting in the seat that had been occupied by Mr. Granger earlier that morning.

"Um, good morning to you too," she said hesitantly, looking at him oddly.

"Your mum and dad already ate, and they just went out for a walk. Though I think they just wanted to go somewhere to talk about me without being overheard," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. Hermione smiled at him and took a sip of tea, her forehead furrowing. "What? Did I not get it right? You like your tea with milk and sugar, right?" He stopped, realizing he was babbling. "Um, I can make you another cup." Hermione shook her head.

"No! This is perfect. I just…didn't know you knew how I take my tea." Harry grinned at her, shrugging.

"Hermione, have I ever told you how _brilliant_ I think you are?" he asked. A puzzled look appeared on her face and she raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, what's going on?" she finally said, looking around the kitchen as if expecting something to pop out at any moment. Harry was rather offended.

"What? Can't I be nice to you?" Hermione blushed slightly, choosing not to answer by taking a large bite of her pancakes instead. Harry narrowed his eyes slightly. "Ron and I were talking yesterday," he said slowly, choosing to ignore Hermione's refusal to answer for now. "He seems to think that I should just let the shields go down on their own." At his words, Hermione frowned deeply, but then a resigned look appeared on her face, as if she was already sure that Harry had made up his mind to listen to Ron rather than her.

That knowledge made him feel awful.

"So, if you don't mind," he continued happily, "let's not rub it in his face that we think he's an idiot." Hermione actually gaped at him, her eyes wide, and her eyebrows practically reaching her hairline. Harry grinned, feeling awfully proud of himself for being able to surprise Hermione this way after so many years.

"You mean, you actually are going to try to bring the shields down? Honestly?"

"Why, did you think I wouldn't?" he asked quietly, his thoughts on Ginny's words from yesterday. Hermione actually laughed.

"You used to be so stubborn. I was sure I'd have to smack some sense into you," she said lightly, a smile on her face. If he hadn't seen that cold anger on her face the night before when Ginny had pointed out he never stood up for her, never took her side, he would have thought she was perfectly fine. But he _had_ seen that anger, and he knew she wasn't fine at all.

Once, he had been able to practically know what she was thinking with just one look, but it seemed as if those days were long gone. Harry suddenly felt as if someone had placed a weight on his chest, and he couldn't quite breathe…when did he and Hermione stop being best friends?

"No, no smacking necessary," he said, forcing a laugh and smile. Hermione just nodded brightly and began to tell him about ideas she had on how he could bring down the shields, but Harry wasn't listening.

He kept rubbing his chest, trying to alleviate that weight that had settled on him, but it seemed to be rather permanent.

XXX

"I thought we could go shopping today," her mother said suddenly, smiling at her. Hermione looked away from the television and shook her head.

"It's cold," she said simply. Her mother pursed her lips but then she smiled again.

"Alright, then how about we play a few duets?"

"I don't play piano anymore, mum," Hermione pointed out.

"Nonsense! You love playing piano." For a moment, Hermione didn't know what to say, but then she sighed.

"Things change." Her mother closed her eyes briefly and then switched off the television. Neither of them had been watching the news anyway, but it had been a wonderful excuse to just remain silent.

Harry, as rash as he'd ever been, had decided he wanted to get the task of bringing down his mental shields over with. So the moment she had finished her breakfast, he had gone upstairs, locking himself in her bedroom.

Hermione wasn't sure if she should be worried about him, or just annoyed because he'd left her alone with her mother.

"Whatever I did, it must have been terrible," her mother said softly, opening her eyes, "because my own daughter absolutely hates spending any time with me." Hermione didn't say anything for a moment, but then she crossed her arms over her chest, staring at her mum through narrowed eyes.

"That line worked on me when I was eight. But you can't lay a guilt trip on me so I'll go out with you. I'm twenty-five." Emma Granger sighed.

"Oh, don't look at me that way. It was worth a shot. Besides, you seem worried, so I thought I'd cheer you up."

"By reminding me how utterly dull I was as a child?"

"_No_." She bit her lip when Hermione just rolled her eyes. "At least I'm trying to cheer you up. Your father seems to think fixing that bloody hole in the cupboard is more important." From the kitchen, her dad chuckled.

"It's not my fault Harry can't do anything right," he said loudly. Hermione tried to hide it, but her mother noticed her smile almost immediately.

"Can you believe it, Dan? She finds you funny." Her father stuck his head out of the kitchen and winked at her.

"'Course she finds me funny. I'm her _father_. Everything I do is funny." Hermione and her mother both laughed, and for the first time since her parents had arrived, Hermione felt as if they were still her best friends—still the two people in the world she trusted without a doubt.

For the first time, she felt rather hopeful that the space between them—that wedge that magic had caused—would one day disappear entirely.

XXX

Harry sat stiffly with his legs crossed and his back pressed against the wall, muttering a quick Silencing Charm. There was a rather large part of him that was beginning to think this whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, that Hermione and the others were just having him on. He chuckled lightly; he should have known that they'd pull something like this. It wasn't as if they had any qualms when it came to mercilessly teasing him. They were probably laughing their heads off right now, discussing how stupid he was for actually thinking that something like this was even possible…

He leaned his head back, letting out a deep breath, wondering what Hermione would say when he went downstairs and let her know that he was on to her. And yet, despite his certainty that all of this was just a hoax, he was sure if he went down to Hermione and admitted he hadn't even _tried_, she'd just be disappointed. Disappointed because he hadn't trusted her enough, which would mean Ginny was right…

Harry scowled; Ginny was _not_ right, dammit, and he'd prove it.

He closed his eyes, thinking back to the night of the battle and everything he'd felt, which was rather difficult as the entire night had just been one enormous rollercoaster of emotions. How was he supposed to know what emotions he had pushed away, hiding them behind a wall because he was too afraid to confront it? After all, he'd spent most of his life wearing his anger on his sleeve while he hid away anything else he may have felt…

He wondered what Dumbledore would say, if he were alive. Harry shook his head exasperatedly. He knew exactly what Dumbledore would say. The previous Headmaster would have spouted out some nonsense about choosing what was right over what was easy, and then he'd mention how love was the greatest power of all, all the while planning for Harry to walk to his death. Harry rubbed his temples, trying to ignore the headache that was coming on, but his thoughts remained on the man he once trusted above all others.

His eyes shot open, a something foreign taking hold of him. He had _trusted_ Dumbledore, had blindly followed everything he had been told. All of that loyalty, all of that affection, for naught. Because at the end of the day, Dumbledore had kept his secrets, and had somehow conned a seventeen year old into willingly walking to his death.

"_He accused me of being 'Dumbledore's man through and through.'"_

"_How very rude of him."_

"_I told him I was."_

How stupid of him. How completely, utterly, ridiculously _stupid_ of him. Harry clenched his fists, the pain in his head getting worse and worse.

What had gone through Dumbledore's mind at that point? Did he feel remorse, did he feel an ounce of guilt? Did he wonder if perhaps he shouldn't allow a mere teenager to sacrifice everything—to walk away from the people he loved—and embrace death?

His relationship with the Headmaster hadn't been healthy—Rita Skeeter had been absolutely right. And while a distant part of himself could understand Dumbledore's reasoning, could understand that Dumbledore had never _really intended _him to die, that doing the right thing was far more important than doing what was just easy, he couldn't help but think that everything he had between the Headmaster had been lies upon more lies.

Dumbledore may have been relatively sure that he wouldn't actually die when Voldemort casted the Killing Curse, but it didn't change the fact that there was no way that Dumbledore could have been positive. Harry's hands shook, and he leaned forward, the pain in his head actually making him rather nauseous. His eyes burned with unshed tears, and his heart raced, pounding in his chest.

It took him a minute, but he suddenly realized what he was feeling: anger. He was angry.

He was angry because of Dumbledore's Machiavellian ways. He was angry because Tonks hadn't stayed in the Room of Requirement—where she would have been safe—and had left her son behind. He was angry because he didn't end it sooner, because he let others fight for him, because he blindly trusted Dumbledore, because even now, he still trusted Dumbledore.

As if his mind was just waiting for him to admit how angry he truly was, a dam of pain burst, actually making him cry out. The lamp on Hermione's bedside table shattered; several shelves of books flew across the room; the lights flickered and then burst into dozens of shards, several of them embedding themselves into Harry's flesh. But that was nothing compared to what was going on _within_.

It was as if fire—pure _fire_—was coursing through his veins, setting every limb aflame. He could hear Bellatrix's voice in his head, telling him he had to feel anger—to actually want to cause pain—to cast the Cruciatus curse. And it was as if he was being tortured with dozens of the Unforgivable at once. He let out a moan, biting his lip and clenching his fists so hard that he had drawn blood. Another shelf of books flew across the room, one of the heavier tomes slamming into his head.

Harry could actually feel his eyes roll into the back of his head as he began to slip into a blessed unconsciousness, and he suddenly found himself wishing that he hadn't cast Silencing Charms on a whim. He could only hope that Hermione would come soon, that she'd take away the pain.

XXX

He was aware of someone crying, and a soft touch. Wearily, Harry opened his eyes, realizing that the pain was gone, to be replaced by nothing more than a dull ache.

"What happened?" he asked hoarsely. The crying stopped immediately, and he saw Hermione lean over him—it seemed his head was resting in her lap—her eyes full of fear.

"Oh, thank _Merlin_, you're alright!" she said, several tears escaping her red-rimmed eyes. "I'm so stupid, Harry. I should never had suggested anything. You nearly killed yourself with your own magic—" With great effort, Harry cut her off by pulling her head closer to him, giving her a lingering kiss on the cheek. He ignored the fluttering in his stomach, and instead grinned at his best friend.

"I was angry," he said simply, his grin widening. Hermione just stared at him for a moment, wiping away several more tears.

"You're such a dolt," she said as she very gently ran her fingers through his hair. With a contented sigh, Harry closed his eyes.

"I'm Dumbledore's man, through and through," he muttered before promptly passing out.

**Please note, this is **_**not**_** a Dumbledore bashing story. I just find it hard to believe that Harry forgave Dumbledore just like that after speaking to him at 'King's Cross.' I wanted there to be some sort of closure, I suppose. Harry needed to come to terms with Dumbledore's manipulations. And it worked well with my concept of the 'shields' around his emotions. **

_**Witowsmp**_**: I think you're right, their only date was to the Yule Ball.**

_**Spoilerlover: **_**Once I read your review I went back and read that part and realized I had been very unclear. Bill approves of Harry and Hermione, he's just peeved that they 'kept' it from everyone for so long. He thinks they should have been honest. The only Weasleys that don't like it are Ginny and Molly, but for entirely different reasons.**

_**Csijenniferlynn: **_**I'm really glad it made you laugh. I was going for funny, but I didn't know if I'd done a good job. As for the Ginny issue: I think we've reached an impasse. Besides, I respect your views, and I think you're entitled to them. So, even though you don't agree with me, I do hope you'll keep reading. **

**As always, thank you so much for reading, following, favoriting (I don't think that's a word), and/or reviewing; each one makes my day! Hope you liked the chapter!**


	11. Day Ten

Chapter Eleven- Day Ten

"My God. You look awful." Harry grinned weakly at Mr. Granger, leaning heavily on Hermione for support. Though the pain was practically gone—that burning that had spread over every inch of his body—he felt weak, as if he'd been completely drained of energy. It was why he needed Hermione; he had barely been able to get to the restroom on his own, let alone walk down the stairs by himself.

It was rather embarrassing.

"What happened?" Mrs. Granger asked worriedly, rushing forward and actually helping Hermione get him into a chair. He noticed the thankful—and slightly surprised—look on Hermione's face, but he was mostly touched. He was sure Mrs. Granger didn't care for him, but she cared enough about Hermione to be willing to put those negative feelings aside.

"I had a slight accident," Harry said, squeezing Hermione's hand in thanks. She bit her lip and poured him a cup of tea before sitting next to him, watching him carefully. "I see you fixed the cupboard," he added, noticing that the hole had been fixed. Mr. Granger grinned.

"Well, it's not like you can do anything right, can you?" he said, shaking his head in mock sadness. Harry laughed, immediately wincing at the sudden wave of pain in his head. All three Grangers noticed, but only Hermione leaned closer to him, giving him a worried look.

"Harry, you need to relax. Your mind is sensitive right now."

"Yeah, I noticed," Harry said, giving her a small smile. Mrs. Granger crossed her arms and glared at the two of them.

"You look like you were run over by a car, Harry. What _happened_ to you?"

"I _feel_ like I was run over by a car, too," Harry said lightly, but he knew Mrs. Granger wouldn't let the matter drop, so he continued. "I've been having some issues with my magic."

"Looks like your magic puts up a good fight," Mr. Granger said, his lips twitching as if he was about to smile. To Harry's ultimate surprise, Hermione let out a small laugh—though it sounded suspiciously close to a sob. Without really thinking about it, Harry reached out and took her hand in his, giving her a small smile.

"It's my fault," Hermione muttered. "He listened to me, and he shouldn't have." She shook her head and Harry watched as a few tears rolled down her cheeks. Despite her puffy, red eyes, Harry didn't think she could possibly be more beautiful…He blinked, and turned to Mr. Granger, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

"Hermione's being hard on herself. It was something I had to do."

"Fight with your magic?" Harry laughed, and shook his head.

"Get closure," he said softly, not going into detail. He was quite glad when Hermione also refused to speak despite her parents' inquisitive looks. Mr. Granger snorted.

"Well, this must be a magical world type thing. Emma and I are out of our element," he said, grinning. "After all, I wasn't aware fighting with your magic gives closure." He gave Mrs. Granger a nod, and then, without another word, he got up and left. Harry frowned, wondering if he had somehow done something wrong, when he noticed that Mrs. Granger was staring at him intently. Suddenly, what was going on was glaringly obvious.

Mr. Granger had his talk with him yesterday. Now, Mrs. Granger wanted _her_ turn.

"Hermione? Do you think Mr. Granger's upset with me?" Harry asked. She stared blankly at him for a moment, but then her gaze shifted to her mother, and understanding blossomed on her face.

"I'm sure he is. I'll go talk to him, shall I?" To his shock, she gave him a kiss on the cheek before leaving, and he was quite sure he had been unable to hide his surprise effectively, judging by the sly look on Mrs. Granger's face—like she knew something no one else did.

"So…" he said nervously, looking at Mrs. Granger before immediately looking away. She still had that look on her face, and it was frightening.

"I know you think I hate you, but I don't." Harry turned to her, wondering if the Grangers were trying to give him so many surprises that he'd die from a heart attack.

"I, uh, never thought you…hated me," he said weakly.

"Oh, please. You're not daft. It's not like I've been nice to you."

"Right. And I shouldn't have assumed you hated me. Because that would be just silly," Harry said, not knowing how to react. With Mr. Granger it was easy. Be polite, and be yourself. There wasn't much thinking involved other than not making any slip-ups when it came to his fake relationship with Hermione. With Mrs. Granger, on the other hand, he had to constantly wonder if what she was saying was some sort of clue, or if it had a double meaning, or perhaps she was hinting at something.

"You see, Harry, I was just _pretending_." Harry blinked and then he sighed, thinking this would be as close as Mrs. Granger got to flat out telling him she knew his 'relationship' with Hermione was a sham.

"Mrs. Granger—"

"Oh no, _you_ don't get to talk." She gave Harry an odd look and then shook her head sadly. "You know, you were her first friend. That first summer back, she couldn't stop talking about her 'best friend, Harry.' I was so happy for her." She let out a soft laugh, and then shook her head with disbelief. "You seemed decent enough, especially when I met you for the first time. You were small—a bit pathetic, really—but you seemed like you'd be a great friend for her. But then she came home for the summer with a gash on her chest—" Harry winced, realizing she was talking about the summer after fifth year, when Hermione was still recovering from Dolohov's curse. "—but she only cared about _you_. She was worried you'd do something rash, and she begged us to take her to see you."

"Mrs. Granger—"

"_No_. You're going to listen Harry Potter, because I will not watch my daughter get hurt." Suddenly, Harry felt rather angry. As if he'd ever hurt Hermione intentionally! She was his best friend, she was his rock!

"I would _never_ hurt her!" Harry said furiously, ignoring the horrible pain in his head. Mrs. Granger laughed, but her eyes—so similar to Hermione's—were narrowed in distaste. For a moment, Harry actually thought his heart would stop. Hermione had never looked at him that way—even when he was at his worst—but for a moment, it wasn't Mrs. Granger looking at him in dislike, but Hermione.

"That's the thing, Harry, you _have_ hurt her. You _are_ hurting her."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, his fists clenched.

"When I asked you about a job, I wasn't trying to hurt you. Have you looked in the mirror? Have you seen yourself lately?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You don't _care_. About anything! When I saw you the last time Dan and I were here, you had life in your eyes. You were working to become a 'magical police officer,' you devoted any time you had to helping Hermione cope. You were _alive!_ But now, you're not the Harry Hermione always wrote about, the boy who was determined, who did whatever it took to save the day." She stared at him intently, as if looking for something, but Harry was at a loss.

"I don't know why you expect me to just be fine. I watched people _die_ because of me," he bit out, feeling his ire rise. Mrs. Granger reached out and took his hand, gripping it tightly.

"I don't expect you to be fine. That would be utterly ridiculous. But, dear God, you can't lose the _will to live_. Hermione may jump to your defense, because that's all she knows, but seeing you so…lifeless…hurts her. I know it does." She stared into his eyes, and Harry felt a bit overwhelmed. A part of him hated her. Hated her expectations, hated her assumptions, hated the compassion in her voice. But there was also a part of him that wondered if she was right.

Could she be right?

Harry internally groaned, wanting nothing more than to go back to bed. For so long, he'd been lost, undecided, and full of doubts. He craved for the days that he had been needed, to go back to a time when he'd mattered. But perhaps he had just been blind? Maybe he just hadn't seen how much life he had left to live? Maybe_ he_ was the one that no longer seemed to care.

"I don't see what all this has to do with me faking a relationship," Harry said finally, unwilling to admit that he thought Mrs. Granger had a point. After all, he still didn't like her.

"Faking a relationship? Harry, dear, I don't think you know what a relationship is."

"What?"

"Please, you and Hermione act as if you've been married for years."

"But…you said you knew I was pretending!" Mrs. Granger let out a laugh.

"I was talking about you pretending to be fine, when it's obvious you're not."

"So, you didn't know—"

"About how you're not actually Hermione's boyfriend? Yes, I knew that, too. But that doesn't quite matter."

"How did you know? And shouldn't you be upset with me? Or threaten to tell Mr. Granger, or something?"

"A bit of a hint, Harry: try not to look so surprised when your 'girlfriend' gives you a kiss. And why on earth should I be upset or tell Dan?" Harry opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. He had _known_ she knew! And here was proof! What he couldn't understand was why she wasn't upset. Mrs. Granger must have seen his confusion and had decided to take pity on him, because she elaborated. "You and Hermione are so blind. You think you're faking a relationship, but the only people you're fooling is yourselves." She smiled at him, and patted his hand. "Now, I am going to go on a walk with Daniel." She stood and was about to leave when Harry stopped her.

"Er, thanks, Mrs. Granger. I think…" He smiled slightly at her, feeling oddly uncomfortable. It seemed Hermione was _very_ similar to her mother. After all, usually Hermione was the one to make him see sense. She smiled back at him, nothing but warmth in her brown eyes.

"I love you by extension. I hope you know that." And then she left, leaving Harry alone in the kitchen, nursing a cold cup of tea, and staring blankly at the wall.

XXX

Hermione was on a walk with her parents, and it was going…well.

"And then, when I explained that, no, it wasn't normal for molars to look that way, he threw his hands up in the air and left! Can you believe it?" her dad was saying, a bright smile on his face. His hands were stuffed inside the pockets of his coat, and his cheeks were pink from the cold, but he didn't look like he wanted to go back inside anytime soon. And Hermione actually felt the same way…

"But he must have been in pain, right?" her mum asked, looking at her father in interest. To be perfectly honest, Hermione hadn't listened to the beginning of the story, so she wasn't sure what was going on, but judging from her mother's slight grin, she assumed it was funny. She smiled widely at her parents, content to walk in silence.

"Pennington had already given him the anesthetic. I doubt he could feel anything."

"I told you Pennington was a bad choice. We should never have hired him. I feel like he gets far too excited when it comes to pain relievers."

"He's just an excitable lad." Hermione stared at her father for a moment, but then decided that she didn't want to point out the obvious. Who cared what Pennington was doing, anyway? "So, Hermione, would you like to explain why Harry looks so horrible, or do I have to assume that you're just a tad more violent than I ever gave you credit for?"

"I am not violent," Hermione protested. Her mother hooked an arm through hers and smiled.

"Of course. Just like Pennington isn't stealing pain relievers whenever your father looks the other way."

"He's not _stealing_ drugs, Emma. Just because you don't like someone, it doesn't make them a bad person." Hermione watched as her mother's eyes widened.

"I'll have you know, I'm a wonderful judge of character." Hermione snorted, immediately regretting it when her parents turned to her inquisitively.

"Well, you don't like Harry, and you think he's a horrible person, but he's not." Her dad nodded in agreement.

"Exactly. Explain Harry."

"Why does everyone assume I hate him?" Emma Granger protested weakly, finally putting her hands up in the air in defeat when Hermione and her father just stared at her. "I don't hate him. I was mildly upset, but he and I have resolved our issues."

"Resolved your issues?" Hermione repeated incredulously. Her mother always had a flair for overdramatizing, but she hadn't thought it had reached the outright lying stage.

"We've come to an understanding."

"An understanding?"

"You never ask your father what he talks about with Harry. I don't understand why you're interrogating me," her mother said, shaking her head in mock sadness. Hermione nearly laughed.

"I don't have to worry about dad because he doesn't hate Har—"

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about th—" he interrupted, only to be cut off by her mum.

"I already said I don't hate Harry! Honestly. You two have no faith in me." Hermione smiled and hugged her mother tightly.

"Of course we don't, mum," she said once she pulled away. Her father burst out laughing, and even her mum gave her a reluctant smile.

XXX

Harry waved his wand, and all the books that were scattered all over Hermione's floor flew neatly back into their places. He grinned slightly, quite proud of himself, when he noticed that a few pieces of parchment had fallen out of one of the books.

It was covered with Hermione's neat scrawl, and he frowned slightly, thinking that it looked vaguely familiar. Deciding that it technically wasn't snooping around if it was right there, laying so obviously on the floor, he picked it up and scanned the first few lines curiously.

The first time he read his name, he was shocked, but then he realized that he was mentioned over and over again. He frowned slightly, wondering why on earth Hermione would have written such detailed notes on their time at Hogwarts and the year looking for Horcruxes.

"I'm writing a book. Silly, isn't it?" Harry looked up, his eyes widening in surprise. Hermione was standing in the doorway, her nose and cheeks pink, fresh snow beginning to melt in her hair.

"I wasn't snooping, I swear. I was putting things away, and it was just…well," he ran his fingers through his hair, "…it was just _there_." Hermione rolled her eyes, but then she smiled and held out her hand for the notes.

"I wasn't hiding them. _Honestly_," she said when Harry gave her a look. "I was going to show it to you when I was closer to finishing. It helped—writing it all down." He didn't have to ask what 'it' was. Actually, Harry probably should have known that Hermione would turn to writing as a way to cope. After all, she'd always taken comfort in books; it was only natural to move on to writing them, too.

"Is this the big secret? A book? Because, honestly Hermione, this is _not_ a big deal." Hermione laughed and shook her head.

"No, this isn't the secret. It was supposed to be a surprise of sorts, though. For your birthday."

"I can put it away and pretend I never saw it. Then, six months or so from now, I'll act all surprised."

"Yes, but it won't quite be the same, will it?" she asked, grinning. Harry shrugged.

"So, will you tell me what the secret is?"

"No."

"A hint?"

"No."

"Oh, c'mon. Does it involve Ron?"

"I won't say."

"Ha! So it does! Alright, er, does it involve Luna?"

"Who says it has to be about a person?"

"Are you secretly best friends with…Eloise Midgen?"

"You and Ron may not have liked her, but she's a perfectly decent person. I find her to be quite fascinating. Did you know her father—" Harry waved her off, shaking his head.

"Fine, I get it, you won't tell me the secret. You know I'll eventually find out, right?" Hermione stared at him for a moment, her face blank, but then she gave a resolute shake of her head.

"I'm afraid you won't, actually." Harry frowned at the sudden change in tone, but he decided he'd prodded her enough for today. Hermione could clam up whenever she wanted to, and it wouldn't do to ruin his chances of ever finding out what she was keeping from him.

"Fine. Then would you mind closing the door on your way out? I need peace and quiet." Hermione crossed her arms, giving him a questioning glare.

"For what?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"To break another chunk of the wall!" Harry said brightly, giving her a wink. Hermione's glare turned into a look of fear.

"You nearly died! Why would you want to put yourself through that again?" she demanded, rushing forward and grabbing his hands, as if he'd change his mind if she squeezed hard enough.

"I want it gone," he said resolutely. Hermione's eyes were bright with what looked to be unshed tears, so Harry turned away. He wouldn't let her change his mind just because she gave him a sad look.

"I should never have even told you. It was coming down on its own!" Harry turned back to her in shock.

"No, I'm glad you told me. You wouldn't be my best friend if you didn't tell me."

"But Harry—" he put his hand over her mouth, ignoring the odd feeling somewhere in the pit of his stomach as he realized his hand was touching her lips…He blinked and shook his head to dispel his not-so-innocent thoughts.

"I pushed away everything I was afraid of dealing with, and Hermione, I've put it off long enough. I have to do this. I have to." Slowly, he pulled away, wondering if she was going to keep arguing.

"Fine. But this time, I stay here with you."

"What? No. No, there's no way I'd let you—"

"Let me? _Let_ me? As if I'd need _permission_ from a _chauvinistic_ pig like you. I can't believe you'd even—" Harry put his hand over her mouth again, partly to stop her angry tirade, but mostly because he wanted to feel her lips on his hand again. This time, however, Hermione punched him in the stomach, glaring at him when he pulled his hand away. "Put your damn hand over my mouth again, Harry Potter, and you'll rue the day you were born. Do you understand me?" Hermione said furiously, her wand in her hand. Of course, despite knowing he'd made her angry, Harry still felt that it was a fair trade.

"I'm sorry. Won't happen again." Hermione stared at him for a second—and for one frightening moment, Harry thought she could read minds and she knew he wasn't all that sorry—but then she gave him a nod, signifying he was forgiven. He grinned slightly, suddenly feeling rather sick. He wasn't afraid of the pain he would have to endure once another part of the wall was broken down—not the physical pain, at least. He _was_, however, afraid of what he'd pushed away for so long, and he was terrified that he wouldn't be able to handle it. "Right. So, shield charms? Just in case?" Hermione gave a weak nod.

XXX

He felt rather stupid.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember how he had broken a part of the wall just the day before. Somehow, it had just happened, and now he was at a total loss.

"This is taking a while," Hermione commented, looking up from her book. Harry scowled.

"Well, maybe if you didn't _talk_ every five minutes, it'd go faster."

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry," she said, though it was obvious she didn't mean it. He could tell from the small smile on her face. Whatever had happened on that walk the three Grangers took earlier, it must have done them all a world of good; Mrs. Granger gave him a bright smile when he had briefly gone into the kitchen for a glass of water, Mr. Granger had clapped him on the back as he made his way back up the stairs, and Hermione was quite…_chatty_. She had always been chatty, that much he knew. After all, he'd gone to school with her for six years and he remembered what she was like. But after the War, she had withdrawn into herself.

He didn't really know whether to be glad or just annoyed that she was going back to what was normal for her.

Harry let out a breath and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall—in the exact same position he'd been the day before—and thought hard about the War, focusing primarily on the battle at Hogwarts.

He already knew he had been angry at Dumbledore, but what else had he felt? He'd felt relief—he remembered that. Once Voldemort had finished, he could very clearly remember the relief, that weight he had gotten so used to slide off his shoulders. He remembered going up to Dumbledore's office, having that one last discussion with his Headmaster, and he could recall the sandwiches that Kreacher had brought up to Gryffindor Tower for him.

After that, he didn't remember feeling much at all.

"_How many, Kingsley_?"

"_It doesn't matter. It's over, Harry. It's _over_."_

"_I asked, _howmany_?"_

"_We don't know. Almost a hundred here, but there are more outside of Hogwarts."_

"_Right."_

"_You're not at fault, Harry. Do you understand me? You're not at fault."_

"_Right. I'll see you around, yeah?"_

Harry opened his eyes and stared blankly ahead of him. One hundred and twenty-six. That was the total number of people who had died that night. It didn't matter if they were Death Eaters or not, human or not, Harry had counted them all. One hundred and twenty-six.

One hundred and twenty-six lives lost, one hundred and twenty-six people torn away from their families and friends, _one hundred and twenty-six_. Harry's fists clenched, and he closed his eyes once more. He was afraid Hermione would turn to him again and notice the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes.

He should have been one of them! Was it fair that Remus and Tonks lost their lives, lost the chance to spend time with their son—to be a family—while he, someone so underserving, was allowed to live? Was it fair that Fred, so full of life, would perish, but Harry—who, as Mrs. Granger so eloquently put it, had no _will to live_—survived? Was it _fair_ that the good, kind, and excitable Colin Creevey had been taken from this world while Harry wasted away in his flat, wishing for the days he'd been _important_?

There was no longer any point in trying to hide his tears, as they were spilling freely from his eyes, staining his cheeks.

He hadn't cried at the funerals he attended, not at any of them. Instead, he stood in the back, keeping his head down, not wanting to draw any attention away from the person who had lost their life just because he was Harry bloody Potter.

A weight had been lifted off his shoulders the day Voldemort had finally been defeated, but one hundred and twenty-six times that weight had been placed on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

"_I'm so sorry for your loss_."

He remembered how empty he had sounded as he talked to the loved ones of those who had died because he hadn't found the Horcruxes fast enough, because he hadn't worked hard enough, or been strong enough. What was the point of being sorry? What did that accomplish? Of _course_ he was sorry; he was sorry that they were gone, that he couldn't take their place. He was so _sorry_.

It was easy to identify what he had been pushing away for so long this time. He had felt this way when Sirius had died, when Hermione had nearly been killed by Dolohov, when he watched Snape kill Dumbledore.

When he'd realized that he had abandoned Teddy Lupin because he was too afraid to face the child of two wonderful people who had died far before their time.

It was more than grief. It was more than such sorrow that you could feel actual physical pain. That with each beat of the heart, you could also feel the ache that seemed to consume your entire body—that was constant, never-ending, and unbearable.

It was guilt.

Harry clenched his fists, waiting for the wave of pain, but it didn't come—at least, not in the way he thought it would. He'd never been heartbroken before, he'd never felt such unbearable sadness. But now he knew: it was far worse than any physical pain he had ever endured.

Suddenly, he felt something take his hands, and in between the ache in his chest and the onslaught of emotion, he idly wondered why it was wet.

"Harry," came Hermione's soft voice, "you're making it rain." Harry opened his eyes, and he saw Hermione kneeling in front of him, her clothes and hair soaked, her eyes full of pity—or was that something else?—and a cloud above her, steadily raining.

"It should have been me," Harry murmured. "It should have been me, not them." It was a testament to how well she knew him—how close they were—that she didn't even need to ask what he meant. She just tightened her grip, making him wonder if she truly understood. "How—how do you deal with the—with the…" he trailed off, unable to continue.

"The pain? I lean on you," she answered simply, her voice full of the same thing in her eyes. Harry realized his mother had used a similar tone with him when he was in the Forbidden Forest.

"Can I—" he didn't even need to finish his question. Hermione sat next to him—without letting go of his hand—and he leaned his head on her shoulder. "It's so hard, Hermione."

"I know." She sounded like she was also crying, but Harry couldn't tell.

It was still raining.

**Initially, the ending of this chapter was much different. However, I felt that anything else would be inappropriate. While it may be pointless, I dedicate this chapter to the twenty beautiful children and the six incredible adults who died because of the senseless violence that occurred at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Nothing—no words, no gesture, no act—can lessen the pain the family and friends of the victims feel. My heart goes out to each of them. **

**To everyone who reads this story, have a happy—and safe—Christmas. **


	12. Day Eleven

Chapter Twelve- Day Eleven

There were few things Harry was naturally good at. He could cook—quite well, thank you very much—he was exceptionally talented at Defense Against the Dark Arts—not that he really needed that anymore—and he had an uncanny ability to know what Hermione was thinking.

Of course, lately, that last one was causing him a bit of trouble.

He was only mildly embarrassed about how he had cried like a child the night before. After all, Hermione had seen him at his lowest before. She'd been there when he thought that Sirius had betrayed his parents, when the tournament tried to do him in, when so many had died because of him—again and again, Hermione had been there. He _was_, however, completely confused. For the first time ever, Harry couldn't read his best friend.

It was one of the few things he was actually proud of, his ability to understand Hermione without needing her to even speak. Everyone always mentioned how well she knew him, but very few people realized that it was a two-way street. A street that, somehow, had been blocked, because she was just staring at him, and dammit, he didn't know what she was thinking.

It was infuriating.

He didn't want her to know that he had caught her staring, yet he was also finding it difficult to keep looking at her father, nodding his head every now and then to indicate he was listening raptly. He was quite sure Mr. Granger _knew_ he wasn't listening, and he was also quite sure that Mr. Granger found the whole thing incredibly humorous. What he didn't understand was why Mr. Granger didn't call him out on his inattentiveness. Usually, the older man cherished the moments he could make Harry look like a fool. It was almost unnerving that he wasn't doing anything—

What if Mr. Granger _knew_ what Hermione was thinking?

It would make complete sense. Mr. Granger had talked to his daughter—or had sussed everything out already, as _apparently_, no one knew Hermione as well as her father—and they were in on it together. They were _trying_ to make him feel uncomfortable, to watch as he agonized over what Hermione was thinking…Harry frowned, not liking the look on Mr. Granger's face—some sort of cross between glee and excitement.

"Alright. What's going on?" Harry asked, looking from Mr. Granger to Hermione, his frown deepening. Mr. Granger snorted.

"Excellent. Now, be honest Harry, _just_ how long were you holding that in?" Harry scowled.

"Long enough. What's going on?"

"What makes you think there's anything going on?" Hermione asked innocently, shrugging her shoulders.

"Because you look like you know the world's greatest secret," Harry answered, giving her a curious look. He hadn't seen her this—was happy the right word?—way in quite some time. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he probably had _never_ seen her like this before.

"Mum and dad invited a few people for dinner," Hermione explained, her eyes oddly bright, almost as if she was holding back tears. Harry looked at her for a moment and then turned to Mr. Granger.

"I don't understand why you're so amused by this," he said hesitantly, not really sure if he even wanted to know what was going on anymore.

"Well, Harry, Emma and I know how much you love spending time with a certain redhead, so we invited Ginny Weasley." Harry blinked, positive that he had heard incorrectly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Weasleys are coming over for dinner tomorrow night," Mr. Granger said slowly, as if speaking to a five-year-old. Harry scowled, suddenly wanting nothing more than to bang his head against the wall.

"Why on earth would you do something like that?" he demanded. "We _discussed_ Ginny, Mr. Granger. You know how I feel about her. Why would you do this to me?" At his words, Hermione sat a little straighter, giving him a curious look.

"You discussed Ginny with my dad?" she said. For the life of him, Harry couldn't decipher the underlying tone of her voice. He was sure there was _something_ there, but he couldn't fathom what it was.

Reading Hermione was a fine art, developed over years of having her as his best friend. Sometimes, it was the little things that gave her away. A slight upward curve of her lips when she was amused, how her right eyebrow rose infinitesimally when she was skeptical of something, or the way she tapped her fingers against her thigh when she was nervous. Most often, however, it was her eyes that betrayed what she was feeling. He could see them flash in anger, fill with worry and fear, shine with happiness, and even narrow in distaste. If he was honest with himself, he most enjoyed the times when she smiled—there was this vulnerable, kind, and completely unguarded look in her eyes.

Right now, at that _very_ moment, there were absolutely no indications as to what Hermione was feeling.

She was quite still, barely even blinking, and her eyes were…blank. There was nothing to see, nothing to decipher. Somehow, _someway_, Hermione had managed to completely block him off. It suddenly occurred to him that Hermione was putting on a show, that she wasn't amused, or happy, or anything.

She wasn't just hiding some big secret anymore. She was hiding everything about herself from him.

"I did, yeah," he muttered, suddenly unwilling to look at her. He didn't quite know why it hurt him so much to realize she was hiding how she felt—though he was beginning to think that it might be time to try and figure it out—but he was sure that he couldn't do the same to her. The past few days had taught him a _very _important lesson, one that he didn't think he'd ever forget.

Somewhere throughout the years he'd known her, Hermione had become the most important person in his life. She had always stood by him—through the good and the bad—and it was time for him to do the same.

But that didn't mean he couldn't be miffed with her.

"And, uh, what did you say exactly?" Hermione asked. Harry frowned at her. He hadn't thought about it, but wouldn't Hermione be rather angry at Ginny? He couldn't seen Mr. Granger inviting over a girl he knew his daughter was not on good terms with…Once again, the thought that this was something the Grangers were in on together floated through his mind before he roughly pushed it away.

The elder Grangers might do something like that to him, but not Hermione.

"The truth. That she's a pain in the—"

"Well!" Mr. Granger interrupted, clapping his hands together. "Now that you know what we were hiding from you, don't you want to go up to your room and fight with your magic some more?" Harry narrowed his eyes.

"I feel as if you just insulted me. Why are you insulting me? I haven't even done anything yet."

"The fact that you say 'yet' can't mean anything good, can it?" Mrs. Granger said, walking into the kitchen. Harry ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head.

"Right. So, three on one, is it?" He opened his mouth to say a very witty comment, but Hermione spoke up before he could.

"So when you say that Ginny's a pain, what exactly do you mean? Is it in a 'I can't be away from her' sort of pain, or what?" The question stumped him, and for a second, all he could do was stare at Hermione, desperately wondering what was going through her head.

"Hermione—"

"You know what? Never mind! It was a ridiculous question. I mean, you broke up with her. And you've been—you've been dating me for the past two years." She blinked several times and then nodded. "It was a ridiculous question."

Everyone was silent. Mrs. Granger was staring at Harry knowingly, something that made him rather nervous, and Mr. Granger had a grin on his face—as if things were finally going his way.

"Hermione—" Harry began, not quite sure what he was supposed to be saying. If he wasn't going completely insane, he was almost positive that he had heard…longing?

"I have some work to do," Hermione said, ignoring him. "I'm going to go…work." She stood up, and without a glance back, she rushed out of the kitchen.

Harry looked at Mr. Granger and then at Mrs. Granger, his heart beating erratically. He knew they were waiting on his reaction, yet he was at war with himself. There was a part of him that wanted to rush after Hermione, to see if she was alright, but there was another part of him that knew she wanted to be alone—that instinctively realized she didn't want anyone to go after her.

Finally, the much more selfish part of him won out, and he stood. "I have to go…uh, to the loo." Mr. Granger raised an eyebrow and Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes, but Harry didn't wait around to see if they were going to say anything.

His best friend needed him.

XXX

"Go away, Harry. I'm working, and that incessant knocking is irritating."

"You know, I _do_ know magic. I can just blow the door down." There was a pause, and then Harry was quite sure he heard a muffled laugh. He pressed his ear against the door and leaned heavily on it, waiting to hear what she'd say next.

"You're such an—oh!" Surprisingly, rather than continuing their arguing as he thought she would, Hermione had decided opening the door was a better idea. Which was why, totally unprepared, he fell forward. Of course, Hermione was quick on her feet; she had deftly moved out of the way before he hit her, and he landed on the floor with a thud. "Are you alright?" she asked him, trying and failing miserably to hide her laughter.

"_Oh yes_, I'm _fine_," Harry muttered, feigning anger. He found he enjoyed listening to Hermione laugh, and that thought—rather than worry him as it should have—sort of made him giddy. It was an odd feeling, to be sure.

He didn't think he had ever experienced it before.

"You can't blame me. Who leans on the door like that?" Hermione said, still grinning. Harry sat up and put on his glasses—which had fallen off his face in his show of clumsiness—before frowning at her.

"Hermione. What's wrong?" he asked softly, suddenly all seriousness. For the second time that day, Hermione surprised him. Rather than shrug him off and claim she was perfectly alright, she sat down on the ground next to him, her fingers tapping against her thigh as if they had a mind of their own.

She was _nervous_?

"You know that feeling you get when you…" she trailed off and rubbed her eyes, muttering something unintelligible under her breath. "Sometimes," she said, obviously opting to start over, "sometimes I feel as if I made the wrong choice. You know? When you stop for a second and think about how everything's turned out, and you wonder, what if you made different choices? Where would we all be?" Harry looked at her, realizing she was quite distressed. Very gently, he took her hand in his and frowned slightly.

"Are you upset with how things have turned out?" he asked softly. Hermione's eyes widened.

"What? No, not at all!" She tightened her grip on his hand, as if he were her very lifeline. As if something terrible would happen if she let go. "I just—I sometimes wonder how different things would be. What if you and I never met? Or, what if we didn't go to Bill's wedding? What if I left with Ron when he asked me to choose? What if—" Harry cut her off by letting out a laugh. She looked terribly offended, and he was sure he was about to get hurt, so he held up his free hand in surrender.

"I'm not laughing at what you said. I swear. Let me explain," he said quickly, not liking how she still looked quite angry. "Things would probably be different, I agree. But Hermione, do you know how many times a _day_ I think about this?"

"What d'you mean?"

"I'm always going through everything that happened to us in my head, wondering how things would be different if I had chosen to listen to reason, or bothered to think before acting. _Merlin_, Hermione, I don't go a single day without wondering how things would be different." He was staring straight into her eyes, and he was sure he saw a flicker of…_something_. It was familiar, distant, mysterious, and terrifying. But at the same time, he also felt as if he was finally where he belonged. Sighing, Harry pushed all that away and gave her a knowing look. "But that's not what's bothering you. Talk to me, Hermione." She immediately shook her head.

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

"_Hermione_." Her eyes flashed in anger, and she tried to wrench her hand away. "Have I done something?" Harry demanded, releasing her hand suddenly, as if she'd shocked him. "Did I hurt you? Did I do something so unforgivable that you can't bear to talk to me? To confide in me? Tell me, Hermione, what did I do that was so awful that I lost my best friend?" He saw her eyes fill with tears, but for the first time, he didn't really care.

"Harry—"

"No, _no_. You can't just give me a sad look and think I'll let this go. Luna and Ron know this 'secret' of yours, but _I_ don't. You'll confide in Andromeda—oh, don't look at me that way, you know full well that Teddy tells me everything—but you won't even _talk_ to me. So just—just tell me. Just tell me what I did. Just—" He looked at her for a second and found he was unable to continue. He hadn't realized it bothered him so much that she was so distant.

"What did you do? What did you _do_?" Hermione's cheeks flushed, and her eyes blazed. "A better question would be what _didn't_ you do! Dammit, Harry, you _died_. You were in Hagrid's arms, and you were _dead_! Do you realize what that did to m—us?" Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but Hermione was staring at him with a ferocity he never thought she could possess. "And then, Voldemort was gone and for the first time you could actually be happy. I thought we all could be happy. But you never came back! You're this…shell…doing and saying things because you know you're supposed to, but you're completely empty!" Harry's eyes widened in shock, his hands shaking. Yet Hermione was not yet finished. "You want to know why I don't confide in you? Because you're not the boy with the taped up glasses, the boy who made me see that there were things more important than making the grade. Do you see, Harry? _You're_ not my best friend."

He said nothing for a whole minute, and just sat there, staring at her stupidly. But then, something within him snapped. He was filled with something odd, something he didn't think he had felt in years. He hadn't felt this way since he'd fought the basilisk, last seen a dementor, or when he fought Voldemort in the graveyard. It was cold, as if his blood had turned to ice, and for a second—just a second—it felt as if his heart was no longer beating.

He was afraid.

Somehow, without meaning to, another part of the 'wall' was being brought down.

All of the fear he pushed away for so long—pushed away because he had no other choice, because he had never been given the luxury of being afraid—rose to the surface. The fear he had felt when he and Cedric had landed in the graveyard, when he had realized he had led his friends into a trap, when he watched—helplessly—as Malfoy disarmed the Headmaster, or when he walked into the forest, knowing that with each step he took he was getting closer to death.

And then there was that irrational, horrifying fear of losing his best friend suddenly coupled with the fact that he probably already had lost her.

His heart hammered in his chest, his head pounded, and he felt as if he had been plunged into total darkness. Perhaps Hermione was right. Perhaps a part of him had been lost.

Mrs. Granger's words suddenly took on new meaning. _Will_ _to live_. How easily he had just pushed what she said away, refusing to budge! He was always so certain that despite what everyone said, he was coping with everything he had dealt with normally. It took _time_ to be able to live again, took _time_ to realize that there was so much more to him—that he had a purpose besides defeating Voldemort.

But time hadn't healed him, hadn't been able to close up his wounds. He was stuck, stuck in that moment from over seven years ago when Voldemort's spell had backfired. He _hadn't_ moved on. He _hadn't_ learned to live again.

And it wasn't because he had lost the will to live. It wasn't because he no longer had drive, because he was empty. He knew that wasn't true, because he still felt guilt, still could feel the desire for _doing_ something to help flare inside him, still was willing to fight for what he believed in.

He wasn't empty; he was afraid.

How many times had he seen good, kind, _happy_ people suffer? Suffer because they lost a loved one unjustly, or because they had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Was he wrong for not wanting to feel that anguish, that heartache that ultimately came with caring?

Was it wrong that he closed himself off because he was _afraid_ of getting hurt?

Mrs. Granger said that he had lost the will to live, that somewhere along the way, he just stopped caring. Hermione, on the other hand, said he was empty, a shell of who he used to be. Even Luna and Ron seemed to think he was fragile, as if a single blow would break him beyond repair. Yet none of them realized how wrong they were. None of them saw that he wasn't damaged, wasn't hurt, wasn't lost. None of them could see he was just afraid.

Afraid of the very things he once cherished. Afraid of family, of caring, of _life_.

He opened his eyes—not quite sure when he had closed them—and realized that the two of them were sitting in total darkness, unable to see at all. He reached out blindly and found Hermione's hand, suddenly not afraid.

Because he realized that happiness wasn't something you were just given, it was something you had to actively pursue. And that took courage; that took bravery. So as he had done so many times before, he faced his fear head on, taking a deep breath and deciding he was tired of being a shadow of himself, tired of locking everything away because he didn't want to feel pain again. He grinned slightly and tightened his hold on Hermione's hand.

He had been Sorted into Gryffindor for a reason, damn it.

"You're wrong, you know," he said, shaking his head and knowing she couldn't see it.

"Harry—"

"No, you got to say your piece, now let me say mine. I'm _not_ empty. I can see why you think that way, but I'm not." As if his words were some sort of catalyst, sunlight began to stream through the windows once more, lighting the room. "When Remus and Tonks died, I was suddenly partially responsible for Teddy. And I know Andromeda is a great grandmother, and she does a wonderful job, but I had to be responsible for Teddy too. And I resented him. I resented him, and I especially resented Tonks and Remus for leaving me in this situation. A part of it was guilt. I didn't think it was fair that they couldn't see their son grow up, to be happy as a family." He could see her face now, see that there were tears in her eyes. He gave her a grin. "Mostly, though, it was…fear. It was so _easy_ to love Teddy. It was so easy to see him and think about all the great things he'd do. He suddenly became the little brother I never had, and I cared _so much_ about him. And that scared me."

"Scared you?" Harry nodded slowly, carefully going over his words before he spoke.

"I was terrified. What if something happened to him? Or to me? Wouldn't it be better for there to be no attachment? Wouldn't that ensure that neither of us would ever get hurt? I thought that I'd keep an eye on him from afar. I didn't want him to feel the pain I did when Sirius died. I was _so scared_ for him." Harry closed his eyes briefly, and then stared at Hermione with what he knew was a smug look. "Do you see? I'm not empty. I'm not a 'shell.' Merlin, Hermione, I'm just _afraid_." For a moment, Hermione just stared at him, and then she shook her head with a laugh.

"The Boy-Who-Lived afraid? Is such a thing even possible?" Harry didn't know if she believed him or not, and though there was that odd gleam in her eyes—the one he _still_ could not identify—and her lips had curled into a small smile, he didn't know what she was thinking. It was difficult to read Hermione, and for the first time, he had no desire to read her. So he merely smiled back.

**Thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, follows and/or favorites this story! And I'm really sorry it took so long to update. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and let me know what you think!**


	13. Day Twelve

Chapter Thirteen- Day Twelve

Ron was looking determinedly at everywhere but at Harry, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. After all, it was only polite to say what was wrong after rudely banging on the door to someone's house for ten straight minutes, not realizing that perhaps the occupants—or _one_ of the occupants, at least—of the house had finally managed to fall asleep around four in the morning, and even then, had slept fitfully.

He needed to sleep, dammit, and Ron was getting in the way of that—for no good reason, apparently.

"So, er, where are Hermione and her parents?" Ron asked quietly, staring at his hands. Harry frowned, not really in the mood to talk about Hermione or her parents. Though they had ended their conversation on a rather light note—a forced one, perhaps, but light nonetheless—they hadn't spoken to each other at all for the rest of the day. Every time they were left alone together in a room, she would turn away, averting her eyes, and Harry would feel a combination of frustration, anger, and hurt before he would get up and leave.

"I think Hermione went out with her mum to buy food for tonight," Harry scowled to make sure Ron knew how upset he was about the 'get together.' "And Mr. Granger is reading…I think." Ron nodded absently.

"Right. Right."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, Ron?" He looked up in surprise, his blue eyes wide.

"What? There's nothing wrong," he said quickly. "Why would you think there's something wrong?" Harry rolled his eyes.

"For starters, it's not even eight in the morning, and you're here, staring at your cup of tea like you're about to drown yourself in it. So just tell me what's wrong." Ron took a deep breath and then looked away.

"You're sure Hermione isn't home?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"_Yes_, I'm sure." Ron nodded and then rubbed his eyes before he finally, _finally_, started to speak.

"Luna…Luna wants to push back the wedding. She and Rolf want to travel again, and write another book." Harry stared at Ron, surprised. The Ron from seven years ago wouldn't have said something like this so calmly, and he certainly wouldn't look so…accepting of the fact that his fiancée wanted to push back the wedding. In fact, the Ron from seven years ago probably would have thrown a fit.

"And…does this bother you?" Ron looked at him incredulously.

"Well, _yeah_. My future wife would rather go off with _Rolf_," he said the name like it was a curse, "than get married. Wouldn't you be upset?" Now, _this_ sounded more like the Ron from seven years ago. Harry supposed he couldn't have expected the mature Ron to stick around forever.

"I don't know what to say to you, Ron. I mean, I guess I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?" Harry frowned in confusion.

"You know, for what's happening to you and Luna. It must be quite difficult." For a second, Ron just stared at him, and then his best mate let out a bark of laugher.

"You think I'm going to break off things with Luna because she wants to get married later? Merlin, Harry, that's stupid." Harry blinked.

"But—"

"I'm _lucky_ Luna will have me at all. And if it makes her happy to find some magical creatures with Rolf, then I _want_ her to go. I'll postpone the wedding as much as she'd like."

"I don't understand…" Harry said, utterly confused. Ron laughed again.

"It's upsetting that she wants to go, and I'll admit, I want to strangle Rolf. But I love Luna." He spoke with an odd tone of warmth, as if he was partially amused, but mostly, he spoke as if everything was completely clear—as if it were perfectly obvious that he wanted nothing more than for Luna to be happy.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that his best mate _wasn't_ the same person from seven years ago. Ron had matured, had grown up. He wasn't the boy that didn't notice Hermione was a girl, wasn't the boy that let petty jealousy and envy get in the way of his relationships with others. He had moved beyond that.

"So you've been thinking of ways to strangle Rolf for the past hour?" Ron turned red.

"Just because I trust Luna, love her, and am perfectly happy to wait for her to come back from her trip, it certainly doesn't mean I have to like…_Rolf_. I always thought there was something shifty about him."

"I'm sure there is," Harry said, grinning. He thought it was wonderful that it was Luna who helped Ron grow into a real adult, who helped him mature into a man.

Who would have guessed that all Ron had ever needed was to fall in love?

"Are you excited about tonight?" Ron suddenly asked, a mischievous grin on his face. Harry rolled his eyes.

"_No_. I'm dreading it."

"Oh c'mon, it won't be _that_ bad. Besides, you have Hermione and her parents to act like a buffer between you and Ginny." Ron said it lightly, like it was just a joke, but Harry's slightly improved mood turned sour once more.

"Actually, I think I'll need someone to act like a buffer between me and Hermione." Ron gave him a questioning look.

"What happened? Last I heard, the two of you are 'closer than ever.'"

"Who told you that? Luna?"

"Naturally. Now what happened?"

Harry swallowed, unsure if he wanted to talk to Ron about this. It wasn't that he didn't trust his friend, because he did. Ron was his best mate, even after all the jealousy and fighting throughout the years. It was more because telling Ron made everything real. He would have to admit things that he just didn't want to acknowledge. He'd have to confess something that he didn't—and couldn't—understand.

He was unsure about telling Ron because he was unsure about what exactly was wrong between him and Hermione.

He was angry with her, that much he _did_ know. He was angry that she hadn't believed him when he talked about being afraid of living his life—something she had proven by deliberately not responding to what he had said, deciding to make light of things instead. He was also angry because she had said he _wasn't_ her best friend anymore, something he felt was rather cruel of her. After all, who had been there for her when she couldn't cope after the war? Who sat behind her door night after night, waiting to see if she'd need someone to come to her aid? Who was helping her even now—albeit not very well, seeing as though Mrs. Granger already seemed to know that he was only pretending—to convince her parents that she wasn't alone?

Harry also realized that it hurt to think that she had stopped considering him her best friend—that he was no longer the boy she saw as her closest friend. Hermione had been a constant in his life. From the moment she entered his life, she had been by his side, supporting him and being the one person he could count on no matter what. It hurt—actually _physically _hurt—to find out that she did not feel the same way about him, as he always assumed she had.

The only reason he hadn't confronted her, hadn't forced her to talk, was because he was afraid. He was afraid of hearing something he didn't want to hear—something he didn't think he could handle at that point.

"Hermione and I…are having a disagreement," Harry said, opting to downplay everything. Ron eyed him skeptically for a moment, and then he shook his head, as if disappointed; it infuriated Harry. What right did _Ron_ have to judge? What did he know?

"What happened, Harry?" Ron asked again, looking as if he already knew exactly what had happened. Though Harry was disinclined to answer his best mate, he realized he _needed_ someone to speak to, someone to vent to.

"She said that…" Harry trailed off, unsure how to continue, but one look at Ron's concerned face made him take a deep breath and plow on. "She said that I'm not the same person I was, that I'm not her best friend. That—that I didn't come back after I let Voldemort kill me." Ron's eyebrows furrowed, and he ran his fingers through his hair, looking rather lost.

"You…you have to understand what it was like for us, Harry," he said slowly, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. "One moment you're with us, the next, you've disappeared, and then suddenly, we see you in Hagrid's arms." Ron looked up, staring straight into his eyes. "And afterwards, you were…you were so cold, so distant. It was as if you couldn't feel anything at all."

"But that's because of these damn walls!" Harry said angrily. Ron nodded, though it wasn't like he was nodding in agreement. He was nodding in understanding.

"And we didn't even know about the walls until recently! All of us just thought…we just thought…"

"You all just thought that I couldn't cope? That I'd never be able to live normally again?" Harry bit out, trying—and failing—to quell the anger that was quickly overwhelming him. He was tired of this. He was so _tired_ of being looked at with pity, looked at as if he would break.

He was tired of not being understood.

"Well, what were we supposed to think, Harry?" Ron demanded, his cheeks flaming. "It's not like you've _ever_ been open about how you felt. The only person you ever confided in was Hermione, and—" But Harry didn't let Ron finish. He stood up, shaking his head.

"You know what? You're right. I'm emotionally immature. I get it."

"Harry—"

"I'm going to go for a walk. I'll see you tonight, Ron," Harry interrupted. Without bothering to wait for any sort of response, he turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen.

XXX

"Should I make fish or chicken for dinner?" her mum asked, looking at Hermione thoughtfully. She just shrugged.

"It doesn't matter. Both sound delicious."

"Hmm…you're right, dear. Chicken is better." Hermione blinked, realizing her mother wasn't even listening. It was a drastic change from earlier that morning, when it seemed her mother had nothing better to do other than listen to every single word Hermione spoke.

The attention had been bothering Hermione all morning, but now that it was gone, she felt this odd sense of loss. Somehow, without realizing it, she had _enjoyed_ the rapt attention her mother had given her as she spoke about her life—how even the most mundane details were treated as if they were astounding and captivating.

But now, dinner was more important than anything she had to say.

"It's not a big deal, mum," Hermione protested lightly. "The Weasleys are family; they don't care what you make, they just want to come see us."

"Even Ginny?" Her mother asked, looking up from the groceries for the first time since they'd gotten home. Hermione didn't answer for several seconds before she nodded.

"Of course. Even Ginny."

"I was under the impression you had a fight with Ginny, and Harry doesn't want to see her anymore." Hermione's eyes widened at the bluntness of her mother's words, but otherwise, she gave no indication that she had even heard Emma Granger speak.

She was aware that her mother had nothing but good intentions, but she was worried that all the meddling would create more problems that it'd solve. Her parents seemed to think that they could fix everything with a knowing look, and a few words. They didn't see that everything was more complicated than what they assumed.

Her so-called 'fight' with Ginny was something she had expected from the moment she had asked Harry to pretend to be her boyfriend for two weeks. She had known it would eventually come, and she had prepared for it—in her own way. Needless to say, Ginny hadn't attacked the way Hermione had assumed she would. She had thought that Ginny would make it personal—something between the two of them—but instead, Ginny had involved Harry, had pointed out things that Hermione had always felt rather insecure about.

He called her his best friend. He said that he trusted no one else more. Yet, time after time, he trusted others over her, didn't listen to her, and fought with her. Some of it was Harry's personality. He was fiercely independent, and he tended to focus more on what he thought than what anyone else thought. He knew how to take advice, but it was hard for him to do so. Usually, Harry's confidence in his own beliefs was something Hermione had always admired about him.

Recently, however, she found that she couldn't believe anything he said.

She was ashamed to admit that it had more to do with Ginny's statements than with her own feelings. Before Ginny's stupid comments about her relationship with Harry, she would have trusted anything he said. She would have stood by him no matter what. When he said that the only reason he had been off for so long was because he was afraid, she would have embraced him tightly, wishing she could somehow help him. She wouldn't have made a stupid joke in order to avoid discussing the topic anymore.

She wouldn't have hidden away from him because she had said something unforgivable.

And yet, despite the fact she completely blamed Ginny for her behavior, she also realized it wasn't quite fair. After all, Ginny always tended to act like a shrew when it came to Harry—this was something she should have expected.

Hermione sighed, playing with the sleeve of her shirt. She knew that Harry was dreading tonight; he was never comfortable when he had to see everyone at once. Groups of people bothered him, even if they were his family.

The thing was, though, that she was dreading the 'get together' as well. Not only would she be seeing Ginny again—something she wished she could avoid—but she also knew that Molly wouldn't keep her silence for long. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that the only reason the matriarch hadn't let her displeasure be known just yet was out of respect for Hermione's parents.

But Molly was not a patient woman.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, mum?" she answered absentmindedly, not looking away from her sleeve.

"You're a smart girl. You're a very smart girl, and I'm very proud of you. You know that, don't you?" Hermione frowned as she looked up, staring at her mother in confusion.

"Mum—"

"It's a shame that for such a smart girl, you can be so stupid." Hermione blinked in shock.

"I don't know—"

"What's going on between you and Harry? The two of you have barely spoken a word to one another since yesterday. And he keeps going out on walks."

"There's nothing going on. I promise." Her mother gave her a searching look, and her lips quirked into a small smile.

"It's just such a shame," she repeated, shaking her head, chuckling to herself. No matter how many times Hermione asked her to explain, that was as much as she got out of her mother.

XXX

Ginny was having a rather good day.

To be perfectly honest, she was having a fantastic day. She had been given the day off from work—something that had been a wonderful surprise—and had been able to go see George for most of the morning, just talking and laughing with him.

She didn't see her brothers very often anymore. Charlie was back in Romania, Bill and Fleur kept mostly to themselves, and Percy was far too busy with work to spend time with his little sister. Ron and George, however, spent more time with her. They'd visit the Burrow and stay for dinner, or they'd ask her to come to the joke shop so that they could show her their latest product. It was nice, really.

Lately, though, George was spending more and more time with Angelina. None of them had thought the relationship would last very long, but it seemed as if it was quite serious. While she was happy for her brother, she also felt unneeded. Ron had Luna, George had Angelina, and _Hermione _had Harry. Despite many nights over the past week were devoted to thinking about how perfectly all right it was that Hermione had Harry, Ginny could not make herself _believe_ that it was all right.

Because, oh, how it irked her that Hermione had Harry! It was ridiculous, really. The brown-haired girl had spent years denying she felt anything for Harry, and then, out of absolutely nowhere, it turned out that she had been secretly dating him for two whole years?

She knew—she _knew_—that Harry didn't have that sort of feelings for Hermione. So either Hermione had somehow fooled him into the relationship—which, really, at that point Ginny could actually see Hermione doing—or he was trying to make her jealous. It was sad to think that if it was the latter, it was actually working.

Ginny was fiercely jealous of Hermione—and how that simple fact irked her!

Of course, it didn't quite matter _why_ Harry was with Hermione. Truly, it didn't. Because Ginny knew that he loved only her, and tonight—well, tonight she'd take care of everything.

Ginny was having a rather good day, because tonight she was going to save Harry.

XXX

Harry was having an awful day.

He had offered to help Mrs. Granger with anything—absolutely anything—but he had been told that he wasn't needed at all. _Mr. Granger _had been needed. _Luna_, who had come looking for Ron around noon, had been asked to stay and help. Yet, Harry wasn't needed.

And, _shockingly,_ neither was Hermione.

Mrs. Granger had told them to spend time together, since they hadn't been able to have any 'alone time' in over a week and a half. Harry, of course, was immediately suspicious of Mrs. Granger's words. He was very well aware of the fact that she _knew_ he was only pretending to be Hermione's boyfriend, and he wasn't sure if he could trust her.

The whole thing felt like a trap.

Nonetheless, Harry obliged, deciding that even if Mrs. Granger was planning on killing him later, it wouldn't be too bad to spend his last day on Earth with his best friend. Yet, he had forgotten one very important detail: he and Hermione were having a…disagreement. So, instead of 'spending alone time together,' they stiffly sat side by side on the couch, keeping their eyes locked on the television.

While the entire thing was awkward—and actually quite painful—he wasn't going to be the one who caved first. He wasn't going to speak and somehow admit that what she said held any truth whatsoever. After all, Hermione was wrong.

She was.

"Hermione…" he began stupidly, somehow having forgotten the whole thing about _not _wanting to be the one who caved first. She turned to look at him immediately, and grabbed his hand.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I didn't mean it. I swear I didn't. It's just—oh, Merlin, I don't have an excuse. It was a cruel and awful thing to say. It was. I wasn't thinking, and I was upset over something else—and I took it out on you. I am truly very sorr—" Harry squeezed her hand gently.

"It's all right, Hermione," he said softly, wondering if he actually meant it. He was sure he had said awful things throughout the years, but he couldn't think of anything quite as bad as claiming she wasn't his best friend. Yet, at the same time, he couldn't muster the energy it'd take to remain angry with her. More than anything, it just hurt him to see the tears forming in her eyes.

He didn't want to see her cry.

"No, no it's not," Hermione said angrily, shaking her head. Several tears rolled down her cheeks and she roughly wiped them away, as if they had done her some personal wrong. "I had no right saying what I did. No right."

"It's already forgotten." Hermione looked at him incredulously.

"Don't you dare do that, Harry Potter. I deserve to be yelled at, to be told I was being an idiot." Harry smiled slightly to comfort her, but he shook his head, suddenly feeling quite unsure. After all, if _Hermione_ said something, didn't that make it true?

"What if…what if you had a point? I'm obviously not the same person from before—"

"That has nothing to do with what I said though! People _change_. You're not going to be the same Harry from seven years ago. I'm not the same. Ron certainly isn't the same."

"Yes, but—"

"Harry, you will probably never hear me say these words again, but I—I was…I was _wrong_," Hermione actually winced as she said the last word, looking as if she had been forced to swallow something unpleasant. He wanted to stay angry with her, he really did. Every single argument he had had with himself over the past day rose to the surface, and he wanted to tell her how he felt. He wanted to tell her how angry he'd been that she didn't believe him, how much it hurt to hear that she didn't think he was her best friend—that he had essentially died after Voldemort's defeat—but he didn't do any of that. Instead, he nodded grimly.

"Yes. You were wrong." Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Harry shook his head slightly and silenced her. "You were wrong to not trust me. You were wrong to make light of things. You were wrong for making me doubt myself." He stared at her for a moment, taking in everything about her—from the gentle curls of her hair, to the small scar which was all that remained from when Bellatrix had pressed a knife to her throat. Slowly, and without really thinking about it, he reached out and traced the scar with his thumb, noticing that Hermione jumped slightly at his touch. "You were wrong," he said softly, looking straight into her eyes, "but I've been wrong a hundred times before. So it's already forgotten."

"You're my best friend. My first friend. It's—It's just hard to see you like this." She opened her mouth to say more, but it seemed as if she had reached some sort of breaking point, because rather than speaking, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

Harry hugged her back, suddenly feeling rather overwhelmed. She was hugging him, holding him tightly, her face pressed into his neck. He could smell shampoo, a bookish scent he always attributed to libraries, and it was all so…_Hermione_. He couldn't define the reason why his heart was beating erratically, or the reason behind the fluttering in his stomach, but he did know that—at that moment—he wanted nothing more than to kiss his best friend.

Yet, he did nothing.

XXX

"Harry, son, sit down. I want to beat you at a game of chess before the Weasleys arrive," Mr. Granger said, looking far too chipper for Harry's liking. He knew _why_ Mr. Granger was so chipper, of course. In less than an hour, the Weasleys would arrive, and Mr. Granger was looking forward to witnessing Harry's discomfort.

It was cruel, really.

"I'd rather stand, actually." Mr. Granger frowned at him, and then he shook his head.

"I don't know why you're so nervous. Dear God, you just have to survive a few hours with your _family_. That shouldn't be this difficult, should it?" Harry stared at Mr. Granger blankly for a moment before taking a deep breath and nodding in relief.

"You're right," he muttered, sitting down across from the older man. "You're right. I'm just being silly." Mr. Granger nodded approvingly as he moved one of his pawns forward.

"Ex-girlfriends are always make things awkward, I realize that. Especially when you have your current girlfriend in the same room as your ex. That's never fun." Harry blinked a few times before he made his move. Mr. Granger stared at the board with a look of concentration on his face.

"Are you speaking from experience, Mr. Granger?" Harry asked, only slightly joking. Mr. Granger grinned and looked up.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said conspiratorially, leaning forward. "Emma—"

"—wouldn't want you to tell these stories, so keep them to yourself, Daniel," Mrs. Granger interrupted, staring disapprovingly at her husband.

"I thought you were getting dressed," Mr. Granger said innocently. Harry stifled a laugh, but Mrs. Granger's eyes narrowed.

"I _was_ getting dressed. But now I'm not." She turned to Harry, her lips pursed into a thin line. "You're going to help me with the finishing touches on the dessert. You _won't_ be listening to my husband's ridiculous stories." Harry stood reluctantly, and he followed Mrs. Granger into the kitchen, feeling rather disappointed.

"Oh c'mon, Emma! It's not like _all_ of the stories are embarrassing! There's the time when we set Abigail's house on fire. That was funny, and you know it!" Harry looked back at Mr. Granger sadly, thinking that he _really_ wanted to hear the story about setting a house on fire, but he also thought he heard Mrs. Granger mutter, "Stupid man," under her breath, and he decided it just wasn't worth it.

He'd like to remain in one piece, thank you very much, and Mrs. Granger scared him far more than Mr. Granger.

Mrs. Granger was still muttering under her breath while she took out the pudding from the refrigerator, shaking her head furiously. He caught words like 'slag' and 'mistake' but he wasn't sure what she was talking about, so he was silent. Which, apparently, hadn't been a good idea.

"Harry," she said suddenly, looking up at him, "do you ever talk to Hermione about your ex-girlfriends?" Harry opened and closed his mouth, unable to formulate a response. Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes. "Eh, stupid question. You're not even dating my daughter. You just know how to pretend to date her."

"Mrs. Granger!" Harry protested, his eyes on the kitchen door, waiting for the moment Mr. Granger barged in with the intent to strangle him. She rolled her eyes a second time.

"What? Afraid Dan might 'find out?' You stupid, stupid boy." She shook her head in disappointment and handed him a bowl full of fruit. "Make yourself useful. I need a fruit salad."

"Can't you just leave it like it is?" Harry asked, looking at the apples, pears and other fruits in distaste. He didn't want to help. He wanted to escape.

"_No_. Just do what I tell you. God knows you're useless at everything else." At first, Harry was rather surprised by her sharp words, but then he noticed that she was smiling.

"You're making fun of me. You're making _fun _of me…why are you making fun of me?" Mrs. Granger gave him an exasperated look.

"Because you make it so easy," she deadpanned. "Now, cut up those apples."

XXX

So far, everything was going rather well. Yes, Ginny was looking at her murderously, and Molly looked like she had been stabbed in the back, but otherwise, everything was going rather well.

After all, she hadn't expected their 'get together' to actually last halfway through dinner. She would have thought something—_anything —_would have gone wrong by now. So Hermione was in a good mood. Maybe she had just been over-reacting. Perhaps, there would be no issue at all. Maybe—just maybe—Ginny and Molly had decided to keep their silence…

"So, Harry, care to tell us how you and Hermione started dating? And why you decided to keep it from all of us for so long?" Ginny asked, her voice ringing. The clatter of knives and forks stopped immediately, and everyone turned to look at Harry.

"Now, Ginny, this isn't the best time to discuss—" Arthur began.

"It's the perfect time!" Molly interrupted, placing her hand on her husband's arm. Hermione groaned internally. She should have known that Ginny and Molly wouldn't stay silent—even if their motives behind speaking were entirely different.

"Hermione's been my best friend since I was eleven. It felt…natural…to move on to a different kind of relationship," Harry answered smoothly, smiling at Ginny. Hermione was impressed with his tone—how sincere he sounded—and she was sure that everybody noticed the cold look in his eyes as he stared at Ginny. "As for why we didn't tell anyone, well, there are plenty of reporters who want to continue Rita's _noble_ work. I wasn't going to let anyone harm Hermione because of me."

"Yes, but—"

"I don't know why you're arguing, Gin," Ron said suddenly, looking at his sister in disappointment. "Their relationship is none of your concern."

"Oh, please, like _you_ have any right at all to give out relationship details," Ginny said angrily, her ears tinged pink.

"Now, kids," Arthur began slowly, holding up his hands. But everyone ignored him.

"That has nothing to do with your meddling in Harry and Hermione's life!" Ron yelled, standing up abruptly, his chair falling backwards. Hermione's eyes widened, not liking where this was going. She grabbed Ron's arm and tried to get him to sit back down, but it was no use.

"You sit there all high and mighty because you're getting _married_ and you think you can give relationship advice, but you can't, Ron!" Ginny said, her cheeks now pink as well.

"What happened between me and Hermione has nothing to do with her relationship with Harry, so I don't know why you're bringing it up."

"I'm _bringing it up_ because Luna deserves better and so does Harry!" Before anyone could react, Ginny turned to Harry. "Ron cheated on Hermione with Luna. When he gives you all his great relationship advice, I bet he didn't tell you that." Harry blinked several times and he turned to Ron in shock.

"What? What did you do?"

"Harry—"

"No, Hermione! Ron has to answer. Well, Ron? What's Ginny talking about? Is _this_ the damn secret you've kept from me?"

"It was between me, Ron, and Hermione. It has nothing to do with anyone else," Luna said loudly, a determined look on her face. Harry shook his head angrily.

"Like hell it has nothing to do with anyone else!" he shouted. "What did you do, Weasley?"

"She's right, you know. It's best to leave all this in the past, son. It happened a very long time ago." Hermione looked at her father in relief, glad that a sane voice had entered the conversation, but Harry just looked angrier.

"Wait. _You_ knew as well, Mr. Granger? Who else knew?" He looked around, and when no one spoke up, he let out a mirthless laugh. "This is ridiculous. _I'm_ the only one that didn't know that Ron cheated on Hermione?"

"Oh please, don't act like you care," Ron said angrily, wrenching his arm out of Hermione's grasp. "You're blind. You can't see the thing that's right in front of you."

"Shut up, Ron! _Shut up!_"

"No! The only reason we're even having this argument is because you're pretending to be something you're not!"

"Pretending to be something he's not?" Ginny asked, looking at Ron in confusion. Hermione turned to her angrily.

"Haven't you done enough damage for one night, Ginny? Just _hold your tongue_."

"Why should she hold her tongue? Because you're so good at that, Hermione?" Molly asked, glaring at her. Hermione took a deep breath.

"Right now isn't the time to have this conversation—either of these conversations," she added when Harry looked mutinous. Everyone was silent for a minute, but then Ginny shook her head angrily.

"Well, I'm not staying silent. Not when Hermione clearly went back on her word."

"Word? What word?" Harry asked. Hermione opened her mouth to answer him, but Ron spoke up first.

"Oh, save your breath, Ginny," he said bitterly. "She didn't break her promise. So you and mum need to leave her alone."

"What word?" Harry asked again, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"She never told you?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"Shut up, Ginny!" Ron said angrily, glaring at his little sister. Ginny just rolled her eyes.

"I can't believe she didn't tell you," she laughed, shaking her head.

"Tell me what?" Harry asked angrily. "What is it that everyone seems to know _but_ me? What's going on? Why the hell is everyone keeping secrets from me?" he shouted, glaring at all of them. Hermione watched, as if in slow motion, Ginny open her mouth to tell Harry the very thing she had been trying to keep from him for so long, and she knew—she just knew—that she couldn't let it happen…

"Harry. Get out." Harry's eyes flew to her face, and she saw nothing but anger and a great deal of hurt.

"Look, I'm sorry for yelling. Just—"

"Get out," she repeated, somehow managing to keep her face expressionless.

"Hermione—"

"The charade is over, Harry. They all know you were just pretending to be my boyfriend. They all know now. So I want you to leave."

"So that's all I was good for? I was just here to pretend to be someone I'm not?"

"I think it's time for you to go home." Harry stared at her for a moment, and then he nodded.

"Right. Right." He shoved his glasses—which were slipping down the bridge of his nose—back in place, and then, so quickly that no one could stop him, he leaned across the table, grabbed Ron by the collar of his shirt, and decked him right in the jaw. "That's for being a shite best mate," he said quietly before turning to leave.

"Harry, wait!" He didn't even bother looking back.

"Leave me the hell alone, Ginny."

And he was gone.

**I'll be honest, this chapter was one of the very first chapters I had planned out. Of course, it ended up being a little different from what I had planned, but it's not too bad. At least, I don't think so. **

**I hope this chapter somewhat clears up any issues people were having over Harry not acting like himself. Also, don't forget people, he still has a wall! He's not going to be the Harry from the books. **

**Anyway, as always, thanks for reading, reviewing, following, and/or favoriting. I hope you liked the chapter!**


	14. Day Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen- Day Thirteen

"Harry, open up."

"No."

"_Please_, open up. I just want to talk to you."

"You can talk through the door," he said, picking up all the crumpled up pieces of paper that had been left by him and Ron nearly two weeks ago. He threw them angrily into the trash, wishing Luna would just leave him alone.

She had followed him back to his flat last night. Actually followed him home, and kept asking if they could chat, so that she could explain everything to him. Harry, of course, was having none of it. Not only did he not let her in, but he also totally ignored the fact that she kept banging on the door, yelling for him to open up. When she had left around one in the morning, he had thought she had given up. That is, until she had started banging on his door _again_ just an hour ago.

Needless to say, he was tired, angry, frustrated, and now, quite annoyed.

"I'll talk through the door. I don't mind. But your neighbors are staring at me like I'm mad, and you know they'll talk about you. They may even kick you out of your flat because you're friends with a madwoman." Harry groaned, shuffled over to his door, and opened it.

"I'm not letting you in because I like you or want to talk to you. I'm letting you in so the neighbors won't talk." He frowned, realizing he sounded exactly like his Aunt Petunia. Which, honestly, just made him angrier. Luna, however, smiled dreamily at him, and practically glided into his flat.

"Oh, this is much better. I don't have to yell anymore."

"Luna, you have five minutes to make your point."

"Five minutes isn't nearly enough!" she protested, looking at him aghast. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Talk fast," he said simply.

"Has anyone ever told you you're awfully mean when angry? It really isn't a good trait—"

"You now have four minutes," Harry said, looking at his watch with one eyebrow raised. Luna held up her hands in surrender and she took a deep breath.

"First, let me explain the cheating thing—"

"There's no need to explain. Ron cheated on Hermione. And as you so kindly pointed out, it has nothing to do with me." He knew he was being awful to Luna, but he was infuriated with her statement, and he was infuriated that she had the gall to stand there and talk about something that was partially her fault.

"Does what you say cut into my time—? Right, right. Not important," she said quickly, eying him cautiously. "Look, Ron may have _technically_ cheated on Hermione, you know, with me. But it's not what you think."

"Does it matter what I think? Like you said, it's between you, Ron, and Hermione. It's none of my business." Luna stared at him for a moment before she let out a deep breath.

"_I'm sorry_," she said emphatically. "I shouldn't have said that. I mean, of course _you_ matter. What you think _matters_."

Luna, lying isn't going to—"

"Please, just let me explain everything to you. You deserve to know." She waited until he gave a curt nod before continuing. "Hermione and Ron weren't really in a relationship. I mean, they said they were together for about two months, but I don't think either one of them actually considered it a relationship after the first week."

"I know all this, Luna. I was there, remember?" Harry said impatiently, not really interested. Luna nodded quickly.

"So you remember then? You remember how Hermione spent all her free time with you? How, after the war, the two of you coped by leaning on each other? How you both seemed to forget that Ron and I had nightmares too, were in pain too, and couldn't cope too?" Harry felt his cheeks warm, and his anger with Luna washed away to be replaced by guilt.

He couldn't think of anything to say in his defense, because everything she said was absolutely true. After the war, after Voldemort was finally gone and the Death Eaters slowly rounded up, he and Hermione formed a sort of exclusive club. Ginny had lost a brother in the war, but he hadn't stayed awake all night, waiting to help her if she had nightmares. Luna had been a captive of the Malfoys, and yet, not once did he try to take her mind off everything by taking her out and acting like a friend should.

Yes, he visited the graves of all those who died fighting Voldemort every month, but not once did he do anything for those who _survived_. Only Hermione and little Teddy Lupin got his attention, received his help.

"Oh, Merlin, Luna, I'm so sorry," Harry began, running his fingers through his hair as a fresh wave of guilt flooded through him. But Luna shook her head.

"No!" she cried, her eyes wide. "You have no reason to be sorry. It wasn't your responsibility. You needed to heal, you _deserved_ time for yourself." She paused, smiling slightly. "I'm just trying to explain what was happening back then."

"You mean how you and Ron got together?" Harry asked, his tone much softer than before. He was still angry—especially with Ron—but he decided he could at least be polite. Luna nodded slowly, looking relieved at his change in tone.

"You and Hermione never seemed to be around and Ron and I started to talk a lot. He…he felt guilty about abandoning you and Hermione, about never being a good friend to the two of you. And I…I needed someone who'd listen to me." She had a faraway look in her eyes, a tender expression on her face. "And then, out of the blue, I woke up one morning and realized I loved him."

"Luna—"

"I'm not saying this to justify what happened. Ron and I made a mistake. We knew that. It was why we immediately told Hermione. She's my best friend, and I was sure she would hate me for what I did." Harry looked at Luna for a second and he realized what had happened.

"But she didn't, did she?" he guessed.

"No, she didn't. In fact, I think she was a bit relieved. She said that she and Ron would never have worked out, that they just didn't understand one another, that they should have broken up weeks earlier." Here, Luna smiled and shrugged. "She said she was happy for the two of us."

"So why is it that everyone seemed to know but me?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling angry again.

"Everyone _didn't_ know. As far as I knew, only Ginny had found out about it. And that's because she was eavesdropping when Ron and I confessed to Hermione."

"And she didn't say anything? It's been _years_," Harry said, looking at Luna with disbelief.

"Don't look at me that way. I don't know why she kept quiet so long. We certainly didn't ask her to keep it a secret."

"But you didn't want me to know, either," Harry said, throwing himself into a chair. Luna sat across from him shrugging slightly, and she had the decency to blush.

"Don't blame Ron for that. _I_ didn't want you to know. It's just…" she looked lost for a second, but then a determined look appeared on her face and she smiled sadly. "You're awfully protective of Hermione. I was worried that if you knew I had done something to hurt her, you wouldn't want to be my friend anymore." Suddenly, Harry thought back to the Horcrux Hunt, how he had seen Luna's room, and how she considered him to be one of her very few friends. While she had definitely come out of her shell since then, spent more time with people, he tended to forget that Luna was quite lonely—that he _still_ was one of her very few friends.

"Luna," he began slowly, not really knowing how to word what he wanted to say, "I wouldn't stop being your friend over something like this. If Hermione didn't care, why should I?"

"But you got upset last night," Luna countered, looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes. Harry actually let out a laugh.

"I was upset because everyone's hiding something from me," he said, his tone getting heated. "Ron—my supposed best mate!—is constantly hiding everything from me. And Hermione…" he clenched his fists and shook his head. "I just wish everyone would stop with the secrets."

He was angry at Ron. He was angry that his best friend had done something to his other best friend, and didn't say a word. He was angry that all these years, whenever Ron and Hermione's relationship was brought up, Ron would say they broke up because they just didn't get along.

Harry was angry because he had been lied to repeatedly.

As for Ginny and Molly Weasley, he realized he should have expected nothing less. Ginny had always seen him as nothing more than Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, since the day he met her. He had no reason to expect that to change. As for Molly, well, while slightly misguided—and perhaps quite a bit overbearing—she had good intentions. Harry didn't think she was trying to hurt him. She wanted what was best for him; she just didn't realize that she was _wrong_ about what was best for him.

When it came to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, he wasn't sure _how_ he felt. A part of him was frustrated with them, but he also realized that neither one of them had actually done anything wrong. While Mr. Granger seemed to have known about the Ron and Hermione situation, it wasn't like he ever intentionally hid it from Harry. In fact, he often said he disliked Ron. _Harry_ was the one who never bothered to ask why. And Mrs. Granger, who knew that he was only pretending to be Hermione's boyfriend, had kept quiet about it. She had talked to him about living his life, and though at times she seemed rather harsh, he was sure she never meant the things she said. Mrs. Granger just never mastered the art of sarcasm. Sometimes—most of the time—she reminded him of how Hermione used to be with him.

_Hermione_.

He didn't even want to think about her, let alone dissect what he was feeling towards her. All he knew was that he'd never felt more anger, more pain, or more disappointment than what Hermione had caused.

His chest ached when he thought about her, and that wasn't something he appreciated.

"You want to know Hermione's secret, don't you?" Luna asked, looking at him with a tiny—almost imperceptible—smile. Harry scowled.

"I couldn't care less about Hermione's secret," he retorted, frustrated beyond belief. Luna's smile grew.

"I can tell. You definitely want to know her secret."

"Luna, I don't want to know the damn secret." Luna's smile turned into a frown.

"Well, no need to be rude," she said lightly, looking at him in interest. "I personally think you have every right to be upset with her." It was Harry's turn to frown. He gave Luna a curious look, but she seemed to be lost in her own little world, rambling away. "I mean, after all, I _told_ her that it wasn't something she needed to hide from you. It's rather silly, really. Her reasoning. She thinks that by staying quiet, you'll feel better. The problem is, she's as blind as you are. The two of you, blind as a Blibbering Humdinger."

"Blibbering Humdinger's are blind?" Harry asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. Luna glared at him—or as close to a glare as _she_ could get. On anyone else, it was actually more of a slightly confused look.

"Well, I don't _know_," she said, shaking her head at him as if he were dense. "I'd have to actually catch one first."

"I see. Is that what you're going to look for with Rolf?" he asked, adopting an innocent look. Luna, however, wasn't fooled.

"Ronald told you." She blinked a few times and then shrugged lightly. "We're here to talk about you and Hermione. Ronald and I don't matter."

"_Oh_ no, you don't. You're not going to get out of this. We can talk about you, too. What's going on between you and Ron?"

"I really think you'd want to know Hermione's secret—"

"—you're running away every time the wedding date draws near. One would almost think that you're avoiding getting married—"

"—you know, the secret between Hermione, Molly, and Ginny? The _pact _they made in order to 'protect you?'—"

"—are you interested in Rolf? Is that it?—"

"—don't you want to know what they promised each other?" Finally, after talking over each other for almost a minute, they both fell silent, staring the other down, waiting to see who'd break first.

"I'm not going to back off, Luna," Harry said softly. "I can live with not knowing Hermione's secret." He looked at her carefully for a moment and then smiled slightly. "Let me help you. Please." For a moment, he actually thought that Luna would leave. He saw her hesitantly look at the door, and there was this look on her face—one that clearly read that she wanted to be anywhere but there.

For a moment, he thought that if she did try to leave, he would let her.

But then, Luna sighed and she shrugged lightly.

"I'm not afraid of getting married. I'm not avoiding Ronald," she said. For the first time ever, Harry thought he could hear something bordering on fear in her voice.

"Luna—" he began, only to be cut off rather quickly.

"I'm _not_ afraid. I'm _not. _I am…reluctant."

"Reluctant?" he repeated, confused. Luna nodded, and her features reverted back to the usual carefree look.

"I don't want to be tied down. I want to travel, to explore—to discover! And marriage would mean the end of that." Rather than respond properly to Luna's statement, rather than acknowledging that she had just confided something very personal to him, Harry just laughed.

"Oh Merlin, who would have thought _you'd_ be the one afraid of commitment!" he managed to say through his laughter. Luna blinked, her dreamy expression gone.

"You, Harry Potter, have no right to make fun of me. You're the one that's too afraid to see what's been right in front of you the whole time." It was Harry's turn to blink in shock; his turn to lose the smile.

"Oh? And what am I not seeing? Please, enlighten me."

"You're willfully—intentionally—ignoring the fact that you _already_ know Hermione's secret. You're not stupid. It was obvious from the minute she asked you to pretend to be her boyfriend." Harry was dazed. He wasn't sure he had ever heard Luna sound so…authoritative.

"I have absolutely no idea what the secret is. I'm not willfully ignoring anything," he retorted lamely, wincing once the words came out. He sounded childish—and silly. Luna, however, just stared at him with a mildly interested look.

"So what are you saying? That you're blind or that you're dimwitted?"

"Excuse me?" Harry said in shock, his eyes wide. Luna shrugged noncommittally.

"It has to be one of the two. Either you're blind—and you just can't see what's been obvious from the very beginning—or you're too thick to figure it out."

"I honestly don't think I've _ever_ heard you call someone 'thick.' Well, there was one time you called Hermione 'narrow minded,' but I don't think that counts." Luna stared at him for a moment, but before she could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Harry glared at Luna. "What? You brought back-up?" he asked bitterly. Luna shook her head.

"I'll have you know, Harry, no one likes dealing with you when you're in a bad mood. Even if I wanted back-up, I don't think anyone would come." Harry narrowed his eyes, slightly offended by her comment.

"Then who is it?" Luna smiled dreamily at him, looking perfectly serene.

"Perhaps answering the door will help?" she suggested. Harry opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it again, his cheeks warming. Settling for a glare, Harry stood up and walked to the door, grumbling under his breath as he went.

He was hoping that it'd be Ron at the door. Because if it was Ron, well, he could grab his best mate and give him the beating he thoroughly deserved. After all, one could forgive a bloke so many times. Sooner or later, the only thing left to do was to beat his best friend to a pulp.

Unfortunately—for Harry at least—Ron wasn't at the door.

It was Mr. Granger.

"You know where I live," Harry said the moment he set eyes on the older man, his brain no longer in control of his mouth. Mr. Granger grinned.

"Can I come in?" he asked, his blue eyes bright with mirth. Harry stared at Mr. Granger open-mouthed.

"That depends. Are you going to hurt me? I'll have you know, I have a witness." For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other blankly, but then Luna walked up from behind Harry, a smile on her face.

"Hi! It's so good to see you," she said to Mr. Granger before turning to Harry. "I'll be going now."

"Wait. You can't leave! You're my witness. I _need_ you here."

"Let her go, son. I'm not going to do anything to you."

"I don't believe that. Not even a little bit." Mr. Granger raised an eyebrow, but Harry wasn't budging.

"I just want to talk," he said slowly, looking at Harry carefully. Luna frowned, looked at Harry and then at Mr. Granger before she clapped her hands together.

"Well. I absolutely _have_ to use the restroom." Gratitude filled Harry. She wasn't leaving. She wasn't leaving him alone. Nonetheless, Harry waited till he heard the door of the restroom click shut before turning back to Mr. Granger. He knew what the older man wanted to talk about, and he was quite sure that Luna was going to take his side.

"I don't want to talk about Hermione," Harry said resolutely. Mr. Granger smiled.

"Well, perfect, I don't want to talk about her either." Harry's mouth fell open for the second time.

"Er, really?"

"No, of course not. What she did last night was wrong. I'm not going to defend her."

"Then why do we need to talk?" Harry asked, utterly confused.

"Because, despite all my better judgment, I've taken a liking to you. And I want to help."

"I'm sorry, but help with what?"

"With your problem."

"I don't have a problem."

"Yes, yes you do."

"Frankly, Mr. Granger, I don't see what my problems have to do with you."

"So you admit that you have a problem?"

"What? No. No, of course not!"

"But you just said—"

"Forget what I said."

"Harry," Mr. Granger said, his smile now gone, "just let me in." Harry shook his head.

"I think I've had my fill of Grangers. I think I'd rather stay clear of all of you."

"So you won't let me in?"

"No. No, I won't," Harry said resolutely. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Mr. Granger let out a theatrical sigh.

"Well, all right. I suppose I'd best be off. Emma and I have loads of packing to do anyway. We're going back home tomorrow, you know. I just thought I'd come to say goodbye to my daughter's fake boyfriend." Slowly, Mr. Granger turned around and took a step away from Harry's flat. Harry watched him carefully, curiosity and a bit of guilt taking hold of him.

No matter how much he didn't want to admit it, Mr. Granger had become…something…for him. Dan Granger wasn't a friend or father figure, but he was someone Harry found he looked up to, and despite everything—despite wanting nothing to do with the Grangers—Harry also found himself calling after Mr. Granger.

"_Dammit_," he muttered under his breath. "Mr. Granger! Wait! I suppose…I suppose you could come in. You know, for a while." Mr. Granger turned around, grinning.

"Excellent. So, how about you make us a cup of tea, and I'll get Luna out of the bathroom? I don't think it's fair that she should hide in there." Harry nodded weakly, wondering if he had made a huge mistake.

XXX

"This is a nice flat," Mr. Granger said conversationally. Luna nodded happily.

"Ronald spends all his free time here. He and Harry play a game with—"

"—you know, Luna," Harry interrupted loudly, "I really don't think that's very important." He turned back to Mr. Granger, frowning at the older man. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Impatient, Harry?"

"No, just rather annoyed."

"Oh, I see. You're all snarky now that you don't have to pretend to be my future son-in-law."

"You know, Mr. Granger, if you're here to lecture me on why I shouldn't have pretended to be Hermione's boyfriend, let me just say that I don't need it. I already realize I made a mistake." Luna's eyes widened, and she sipped on her tea, looking away from Harry and Mr. Granger, as if she thought eye contact would force her to have to give her opinion on the matter. Mr. Granger, on the other hand, looked unruffled.

"Harry, why would I want to lecture you? I knew the two of you weren't dating before I even got on the plane to come here!" Luna choked on her tea, and Harry began to clap her on the back unhelpfully as he stared at Mr. Granger with a mixture of disbelief and shock.

"You're…you're lying," Harry said, his disbelief overpowering his shock with each passing second. After all, Mr. Granger was the one who asked him to propose, who forced him to talk about the nature of his relationship with Hermione—who got him to say that he loved her. There was no way Mr. Granger knew that he was pretending the entire time.

There just was no way.

"I told you before, no one knows Hermione better than I do. No one. Do you think I wouldn't realize she was lying to me?"

"Then why didn't you say anything?" Harry challenged. Mr. Granger shrugged.

"At first, I thought I'd scare you into admitting the truth. You know, when I asked you if you were just stringing Hermione along or if you planned on proposing?" he elaborated when Harry looked at Mr. Granger in confusion.

"But I didn't admit the truth," Harry said, feeling an odd sense of pride. Mr. Granger shrugged and drained the last of his tea, setting his cup on the table in front of him before leaning back into the couch.

"No, you didn't. But by then, I didn't really care about outing you."

"Excuse me?" Mr. Granger laughed at Harry's tone.

"That day we went out to lunch and I asked you about Hermione, do you remember what you said?"

"Vividly," Harry answered, his cheeks heating. He felt rather stupid for saying those things now, and he wished he could take it all back…

"Well, it was what you said that made me realize that I had no reason to out the two of you. You were sincere. You said you loved her and you were sincere, and I'm not stupid. Why would I try to separate you from my daughter when you genuinely care for her?" A silence followed his words, until Luna let out a small cough.

"Harry, you can stop hitting me," she said pleasantly. Harry looked at her in shock, realizing he'd been clapping her on the back for the past several minutes.

"Oh, sorry," he said quickly before turning right back to Mr. Granger. "So you just thought torturing me would be a source of amusement?"

"Torturing you? Oh please, I didn't do anything."

"Yeah? What about the wager?"

"That was a joke," Mr. Granger said, waving his hand. Harry's mouth fell open.

"You're lying!" he cried. Mr. Granger looked slightly flustered.

"Okay, I'll admit, I was tired of watching you and Hermione tiptoe around each other. I thought I'd give you a nudge in the right direction."

"A nudge? That wasn't a nudge! That was a shove!"

"Shove, nudge, same thing really."

"No it's not, Mr. Granger. Do you realize what you and Mrs. Granger have put me through?" Luna snorted when Mr. Granger looked surprised.

"You didn't know Mrs. Granger knew Harry was pretending too?" she asked. Mr. Granger shook his head.

"I realized she thought something was off, and I kept telling her to let it go—I was afraid with her meddling she'd drive the two of you apart—but I didn't know she had figured it out too." He frowned, then grinned. "Then again, I don't know why I'm surprised. You and Hermione made it so easy."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really. Just a tip, Harry. Next time you're pretending to be someone's boyfriend and you need somewhere to sleep, don't put your mattress on the floor in full view of anyone walking by the room." He grinned. "Or at least remember to close the door." Harry stared at the older man for a moment before he let out a deep breath.

"Well, that was a nice chat. Have a nice flight, Mr. Granger." Harry stood and gestured towards the door. Mr. Granger, however, just rolled his eyes.

"Please, that's not what I wanted to talk about."

"Oh, this is very exciting," Luna said suddenly, looking incredibly happy. Harry glared at her. Mr. Granger let out a laugh.

"It is, isn't it?" he turned back to Harry, adopting a serious look. "Actually, I wanted to tell you about my father."

"Your…father?"

"Yes, my father. You see—"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Granger, but what does this have to do with anything?" Harry interrupted. Mr. Granger rolled his eyes.

"Let me finish," he said impatiently, shaking his head slightly. "My dad came back from the war unable to cope, and unable to function. He was very rarely there for me when I was growing up."

"Mr. Granger, maybe this isn't a story you should tell me," Harry said quietly, feeling rather awkward about hearing such a personal story. Mr. Granger, however, waved him off.

"I didn't want to go to university. I didn't want a degree. I had this ridiculous idea that I'd make a great musician, and that's all I wanted to do." Here, Mr. Granger let out a laugh and shook his head. "My dad came out of his drunken stupor long enough to tell me I was making a mistake. He said that studying was better for me—that I needed to go after a 'real job.' I told him that I wasn't going to take advice from an unemployed drunk and I left home, leaving my mother, my younger sister, and my dad without even saying goodbye."

"You have a younger sister?" Luna asked, looking pleasantly surprised. "Hermione never mentioned that."

"Well, that's because Anne, well, she doesn't talk to me. Refuses to admit that I even exist." He shrugged slightly and continued. "It took me a few years for my stubbornness to wane enough so that I could finally admit to myself that I was wrong, and another year for my pride to let me admit it to others. I had just decided to go back home, to tell my dad that he was right and that I was _awful_ at being a musician, when I received the news that he had passed away." Harry wanted to say something, anything, but he didn't know how to formulate words. Instead, he just stared at Mr. Granger in shock, surprised that there was more to this person than being Hermione's father and the man who cheated in order to win a wager.

"Did you go back?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse though he didn't know why.

"I did," Mr. Granger said with a nod. "I also decided right then and there that I would go into medicine. I wanted to be able to save lives."

"But you're a dentist," Harry said stupidly. Mr. Granger laughed.

"I know. But it was because I decided to go into medicine that I met a professor who introduced me to something I loved. It was because I went to school that I met Emma." He looked at Harry carefully, and for a moment—for just a second—Mr. Granger's blue eyes closely resembled the twinkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore. "Do you see, Harry? Do you understand?"

"No, actually. What was the point of this story?" Harry asked, wondering how all this pertained to Hermione.

"The point is that you don't always have to have things figured out. The point is that eventually you'll find where you belong. The _point_ is that no one is born knowing what they want to do in life. It's our experiences, our heartbreaks and setbacks, that shape who we are and what we can do with our lives." Harry blinked.

"But that has nothing to do with Hermione," he said, for the first time entertaining the notion that Mr. Granger had come to see him for _him_ and not for Hermione.

"I told you it had nothing to do with Hermione," Mr. Granger said exasperatedly.

"Yeah, but I didn't believe you."

"Of _course_ you didn't," Mr. Granger muttered with a sigh. Harry frowned and looked at Mr. Granger carefully.

"So what you're saying is that…?"

"Is that it's perfectly alright that you're lost right now. I know Emma told you that you've lost the 'will to live' and that you need to get it back, but—and I explained this to her several times—everyone finds where they belong eventually. You're just still looking for where you belong." Luna sat up, smiling slightly.

"You know, I think I need to use the restroom," she said, getting up and leaving. Harry watched her leave—mentally thanking her for being so perceptive—before he turned to Mr. Granger and sighed.

"I'm not sorry that I pretended to be Hermione's boyfriend," he said suddenly, knowing that he couldn't respond to Mr. Granger's comments until he had thought over it carefully. Instead, he'd talk about what he _did_ know. "I've felt more excited in the past two weeks than any other time in the past seven years. And I got to know you and Mrs. Granger better. So I'm not sorry for pretending to be Hermione's boyfriend." Mr. Granger just nodded, so Harry continued. "And I'm not sorry for ruining the dinner last night. I'm not sorry for hitting Ron, or for getting angry. I don't deserve to be kept in the dark about everything, and I wasn't in the wrong for getting upset."

"I completely agree with you," Mr. Granger said, nodding solemnly. Harry couldn't tell if the older man was joking or being serious, but he realized he didn't care.

"But I _am_ sorry for lying to you. For trying to deceive you." Harry held out his hand. "I'm sorry for that because—despite the fact I'm sure you're absolutely mad—I have a great deal of respect for you. So I'm sorry." Mr. Granger smiled and took Harry's hand, shaking it good-naturedly.

"For what it's worth, Harry, I think your father would be very proud of you. You're a good man."

Harry would never admit it aloud to anyone—_especially_ not to Mr. Granger—but those words from Dan Granger were worth quite a bit.

**Hey! Sorry about the long wait everyone. I hope this chapter makes sense, I really do. Most of it was written late at night when I was too tired to study for micro but too guilty to go to sleep—so I procrastinated by writing. **

**To Andy Silver, please don't die or experience TEF. (And I've fallen for Harry, too, so no judging here).**

**Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited this story! I can't even begin to tell you how much it means to me to know there are people out there that like my writing. **

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you think!**


	15. Day Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen- Day Fourteen

Hermione was pacing.

"Merlin, Hermione, you need to calm down," Ron said for the umpteenth time, causing Hermione to actually turn to him with a snarl.

"If you say that _one more time_, Ronald Weasley, I will hurt you, I swear I will," she growled, her words losing their bite because of the anxiety that just flowed out of her in waves. Ron took her hand and patted gently—an action that was not at all comforting.

"I'm just saying you're going to give yourself a heart attack. I think it's best if you just relaxed."

"Relax? He's going to hate me! Actually, he probably already hates me. Oh, _Merlin_, I'm so stupid. I'm such a bloody coward." At her words, Luna let out a chuckle. Hermione, however, didn't have it in her to get angry or become offended. Instead, she sat down in front of the television, her shoulders slumping, and her hair in a disarray because of all the times she had run her fingers through it nervously. "I should go to him. Explain everything. Beg for forgiveness." Luna shook her head.

"I wouldn't do that. He doesn't want to see any Grangers." Hermione suddenly felt as if all the air in her body had been squeezed out of her, and for several seconds she was unable to breathe. She had botched everything up. Because she was a coward, because she was an idiot, she had lost her best friend—the one person in the world she'd do absolutely anything for.

"It's going to be fine, Hermione. Harry won't be angry forever." Hermione stared at Ron in disbelief.

"After what I did to him?" she asked miserably. Without waiting for an answer, Hermione shook her head and let out a sigh. "After what I did to him, I deserve this and much worse."

"Hermione, beating yourself up isn't going to solve anything. I know Mr. Granger and Harry aren't happy with you right now, but you just need to figure out a way to—"

"Wait. My dad is upset with me?" Luna nodded uncertainly.

"Well, that's what he said when he saw Harry yesterday."

"My dad _saw_ Harry?" Hermione asked in astonishment. Luna shrugged noncommittally.

"Yes?" For a brief second, Hermione was filled with hope. Here was something she could use! It would be ridiculously easy to ask her father to talk to Harry on her behalf, and somehow—someway—everything would be solved. Harry wouldn't be angry because she had said something unforgivable—again—and her parents could return to Australia knowing that even if she had faked a boyfriend, she was perfectly fine. After all, she had close friends around her, friends who were there for her.

Of course, as quickly as that hope came, it was extinguished even faster.

If what Luna said was true—and she was sure it was—then her father saw Harry less as some boy who was friends with his daughter, and more like a son. There was no way her father would have gone to Harry and admitted that he was upset with his daughter otherwise. And of course, it would be beyond selfish for her to ask her dad to talk to Harry on her behalf. The blunt truth was that what she had done _was_ awful, and she didn't want to do anything that could potentially jeopardize the relationship between her dad and Harry.

She looked at Luna carefully and then gave her a small smile. "How was he?" she asked softly, ignoring Ron's knowing look. Luna returned her smile.

"Angry. And hurt." Hermione nodded shakily, not feeling very well.

"Hermione, just give him a few days and then go see him," Ron said slowly, looking thoughtful. "He'll have calmed down, and then you can apologize. And I'll come with you. I need to apologize to Harry as well." Hermione stared at Ron for a second, barely considering his words before she shook her head.

"We—_I—_got into this mess because I stayed quiet," she said softly. "I kept secrets and wasn't open with him. I don't think waiting is a good idea."

"Hermione, he _is_ awfully angry," Luna protested weakly, not looking as if she actually disagreed. Hermione shrugged.

"Well, he has every right to be, doesn't he?" She closed her eyes, wondering what she could even say when she saw him. For the first time, she was at a complete loss.

Hermione was a lot of things. She was bossy, particular, opinionated, and strong-willed. Of course, her favorite attribute—the one thing about her that gave her any pride—was her intelligence. It was a source of pleasure to know that she could solve a difficult Arithmancy question in seconds, that she could solve problems that others couldn't, that _she_ was the youngest person to ever Head a department in the Ministry.

She was very well aware of logic, of understanding, of grasping new things.

Of course, she was clueless when it came to reading people—when it came to feelings.

It was here that she and Luna differed the most. Both of them hid behind personas, behind masks. Hermione hid behind books, while Luna hid behind her eccentricities. It was a defense against getting hurt, something built over time and bitter experiences. Guard yourself against others, hide who you really are, build up defenses, and the teasing loses its sting. After all, it's a lot more difficult to get hurt when no one knows anything about you.

And so though Luna had built up defenses just as strong as Hermione's, she was also able to read people with an incredible accuracy. She was perceptive; she had the very rare ability of just _knowing _how someone felt without needing to ask. Hermione, however, was able to understand only one person—could read only _one_ person.

And it wasn't herself. It was Harry.

She didn't need to ask to know how he felt. She didn't need to even see him. It was instinctive, effortless, and completely strange. And for the past several years, the connection she had with him seemed to weaken.

It terrified her. Terrified her more than anything else. The very thought that she could one day lose her best friend, lose the first person who could ever look past the books and the obsession with schoolwork and treat her like an equal—like she was actually worth knowing.

Because Harry was the one who went looking for her when the troll had been set loose in the castle.

Because Harry was the one who said—again and again—that if it wasn't for her, they would never have been able to stop Riddle in their second year.

Because Harry was the one who supported her relationship with Krum and didn't judge.

Because Harry was the one who comforted her when she needed it. He was the one who helped her study for the N.E.W.T. tests, claiming that he didn't have anything else to do anyway, even though he was working hard to become an Auror. He was the one who slept outside her door, in case she had nightmares. Because he listened. Because he cared. Hermione's vision went blurry, and she realized that tears were forming in her eyes.

She was so busy hiding away, so busy trying to make sure Harry was left alone, so worried about what he would say if he ever knew just how much she _needed_ him—how her feelings had long since surpassed that of a best friend—that she had closed her eyes to everything else. She was so busy being absolutely _stupid_, that she ignored all the signs that pointed to the obvious. Instead, she let her own insecurities—as well as Ginny's vile comments—to get the best of her, and she doubted the one person she cared about over all others.

For someone who valued intelligence over everything else about her, it was quite pathetic that she had been _so_ dense. Suddenly, Hermione's eyes widened.

_It's a shame that for such a smart girl, you can be so stupid_.

She let out a startled laugh, shaking her head. The entire time she had thought herself to be so clever, that she had managed to fool her parents. But her mother had known better, and Hermione was sure that her father had seen the truth right away as well.

She let out another laugh and stood abruptly.

"Um, Hermione? What's going on?" Ron asked uncertainly, while Luna smiled genially. She grinned, but didn't bother to say anything. Instead, she grabbed her coat. She was going to find Harry, the pact with the Weasley women be damned.

She had to tell him everything.

XXX

Harry walked on the well-worn path, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. The crisp chill of the air was refreshing, and he breathed deeply as he walked, preparing himself for the conversation he was about to have.

It wasn't like he _wanted_ to be here. Actually, he had reached a point that he could go without ever seeing her again and not really minding. Harry rubbed his hands together before he knocked on the door.

"Harry, dear! What a wonderful surprise!" Mrs. Weasley said the moment she opened the door and set eyes on him. "Come in, come in. Would you like some breakfast?" she asked as she pushed him into a chair. Without waiting for a response, she handed him a plate of bacon and several pieces of toast. "I'm so glad you're here. I feel like I haven't seen you in ages—"

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry interjected softly, but the matriarch didn't hear him—or if she did, she decided to ignore him.

"I hope you know that you're welcome here whenever you like—"

"Mrs. Weasley, is Ginny home?" Harry asked, speaking over her. For a moment Mrs. Weasley seemed flustered, but then she smiled.

"No. She's not. But she should be home soon. Why do you ask?"

"I wanted to talk to her." Suddenly, Mrs. Weasley's eyebrows rose, and she looked at Harry oddly.

"Talk to her? About what?"

"About what happened the other night."

"I see. So Hermione told you about the promise she made me?" Harry frowned and shook his head.

"No, she didn't. I haven't spoken to Hermione since the dinner." Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened in surprise, and she shook her head slowly.

"You haven't spoken to her at all?"

"No." He saw Mrs. Weasley purse her lips, and could tell that she was struggling with something. Harry sighed. "Mrs. Weasley, if you don't want to tell me, I don't actually care. I don't need to know what the 'promise' was. It's not important." She looked at him, her eyes slightly widened, before she shook her head softly.

"If Hermione didn't tell you about it, then why do you need to talk to Ginny?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she set cup of tea next to his untouched breakfast. Harry frowned at her, not liking the way she said that.

"Mrs. Weasley—" But Mrs. Weasley didn't let him finish. She let out a sigh and nodded in understanding.

"So even after what happened, you're defending Hermione?" she asked, though it was obvious she wasn't expecting an answer. Harry, however, felt compelled to give her one.

"I'd defend Hermione no matter what," he said resolutely, challenging her—the woman who took him in like a son—to argue with him. She stared at him for a moment, and then pursed her lips once more.

"I see." Harry was stumped. He was sure that she'd try to argue with him.

"Er…you do?"

"I do."

"Um, alright then." He picked up a slice of toast and began to eat it, just to have something to do. Doubt began to creep in, and he wondered if coming to the Burrow to confront Ginny was the best idea after all.

"She was having trouble," Mrs. Weasley suddenly said, shaking her head slowly. For a moment, Harry was confused, but then it occurred to him that he was finally being told the oh-so-important secret that would supposedly hurt him.

"Ginny?" he asked, wanting to make sure he completely understood. Mrs. Weasley let out a laugh and shook her head.

"No, of course not. Obviously, Ginny was having issues coping, but then, all of us were. No, I mean _Hermione_ was having trouble."

"Trouble with what?"

"She was having dreams, Harry. The same one every night, and it was…it was making her fall apart. I've never seen Hermione like that. It was like she…had just given up." Harry shook his head immediately.

"That's not possible, Mrs. Weasley. Hermione came to _me_ for all her dreams. Hermione and I, we leaned on each other. I would have noticed, I would have known." She gave him a searching look, and then smiled, totally ignoring his words.

"It started a few weeks after V—" she paused, and then continued. "After You-Know-Who was defeated."

"Voldemort's dead, Mrs. Weasley. Surely you can say the name now," Harry muttered in irritation, but she ignored him again.

"She said that there as one specific dream she kept having that was making it hard for her to get anything done. She said she needed my help—"

"Hermione came to me for all her dream problems, Mrs. Weasley," Harry repeated. She looked at him in annoyance.

"Will you stop interrupting me? Do you want to know what happened or not?" Grudgingly, Harry nodded. "She came to me because she couldn't go to you, and her parents were in Australia. She didn't want to worry them." Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but Mrs. Weasley's quelling look made him close it again. "We tried everything. Dreamless sleep potions, Healers…everything." Harry ran his fingers through his hair, already not liking this 'secret.' It hit too close to what he already suspected—that Hermione didn't need or want him around anymore. The fact that she went to Mrs. Weasley rather than him for help with this dream was just further proof of what she had said herself. Suddenly, Ron's comment about how he'd go back to drinking if he ever found out made sense.

At that moment, nothing sounded better than a bottle of firewhiskey.

Immediately dispelling those thoughts—he would _not_ dishonor the memory of all who had died by killing himself slowly with alcohol—he gave his full attention to Mrs. Weasley. "After a while, I began to suspect it was more than just a dream. She hadn't told me what it was about, and I thought it would be best to confront her about it."

"Hermione doesn't do well with confrontation," Harry said softly, noticing that his voice had a tinge of tenderness in it, and deciding he didn't like that. He wasn't going to forgive her so easily. He wasn't. After all, she wanted nothing to do with him…

"No, she doesn't," Mrs. Weasley agreed, one eyebrow raised. "It took some time, but she finally admitted that the dream involved you."

"Me?"

"She said she kept seeing you being carried out of the forest in Hagrid's arms, except, in the dream, you never woke up."

"Why didn't Hermione tell me?" he asked her, his voice considerably softer and kinder than before, feeling a surge of sympathy for Hermione despite himself. Mrs. Weasley laughed.

"If she had told you, Harry dear, what would you have done? Blame yourself? Put everything on your own shoulders?" Mrs. Weasley looked at him knowingly before standing up to pour herself a cup of tea. "She didn't tell you because she knew it wasn't something you needed to deal with." Harry blinked several times before he shook his head.

"I'm her best friend," he said angrily, "her best friend. _I_ should have been told. If it was hurting her so much then I should have been told." He was getting more heated as he talked, but it suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't actually angry with Hermione or Mrs. Weasley.

Because how thick did he have to be to not _notice_? How could he not see that there was something wrong with Hermione? That she was struggling? Was he really so blind? He didn't understand how he could have missed something so big, so important. Harry couldn't understand how obtuse he had to be in order not to see what was right in front of him.

"Harry, dear, eat something. Your breakfast is getting cold," Mrs. Weasley said, not bothering to even respond to what he said. Harry turned to her, feeling an intense guilt fill his entire core.

"I'm her best friend," he protested weakly. "It's my job to deal with things that hurt her." Mrs. Weasley had a sip of tea before she answered.

"Isn't it obvious yet, dear?" Harry stared at her blankly, but before she could elaborate, it occurred to him that this didn't explain why Ginny acted the way she did.

"So this is the secret? That she was having dreams that she couldn't cope with? This is what she was trying so hard to hide from me?" Mrs. Weasley looked surprised that he had spoken, but she recovered quickly.

"No. No, that's not it."

"Because, honestly, I'm better now. I can handle this sort of thing. I don't need her to hide things in order to protect me—"

"You don't understand, Harry. She realized something—thanks to her dreams—and she was going to tell you a while ago."

"A while ago? How long is 'a while?'"

"About two years ago."

"What did she realize? Why didn't she tell me?" Mrs. Weasley looked slightly guilty, and she took a piece of toast off his plate and buttered it for him before handing it back. Harry took it hesitantly, taking a reluctant bite as he waited for her to explain.

"You have to understand, Harry dear. I was trying to help you. I wanted you to be happy." By the end of the sentence, Mrs. Weasley's voice broke, and it suddenly occurred to Harry that she had been completely sincere when she had told Sirius that he was as good as a son. At the time, he'd been more concerned with the Order to really take note of the sentiments, but now—years later—he felt oddly guilty. He couldn't even imagine how difficult he had made things for her, how much pain he put her through.

She wasn't just the bumbling mother of his best mate. She was the woman who treated him like a seventh son, a woman who considered him to be family. A woman who, despite her overbearing attitude and her belief that she was always right, actually loved him. And so, despite knowing that whatever she was about to say couldn't be good, he didn't have the heart to get angry.

"What was the pact, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked quietly. She looked at him for a moment as if torn between telling him what the pact was and telling him off for not eating his breakfast, but then she let out a sigh.

"I was talking to Hermione one afternoon, and she finally confirmed what I had guessed months earlier. Ginny," Mrs. Weasley paused, looked flustered, before she shook her head and continued, "has an awful habit of listening in to things that don't concern her. And she overheard what Hermione confessed to me."

"Yes, but what—" Harry interrupted, but Mrs. Weasley ignored him.

"Ginny said that the two of you were just on a 'break,' and that you planned on sorting the relationship out as soon as you felt better."

"Those words never came out of my mouth," Harry said, shocked. Mrs. Weasley nodded absently.

"Of course not, dear. I know that _now_. But two years ago, I had no reason not to trust Ginny. Hermione wasn't willing to do anything that would compromise your happiness, so I asked the two girls to promise that they would keep any and all feelings to themselves, and wait until you were better to say anything."

"That is absolutely the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Harry said bluntly, his eyes wide. He couldn't believe _this_ was the pact. He couldn't believe that Hermione—intelligent, clever, logical Hermione—would be dense enough to agree to something so stupid. "Why on earth would Hermione agree to that?"

"Because she thought Ginny was telling the truth."

"I tell Hermione everything. She _knew_ it wasn't the truth."

"Well, Harry, I don't know. She _was_ reluctant, she said that it was best to be honest, she said that even if you didn't feel the same way, then at least she'd have told you, but I wanted to shield you. I wanted to make sure you didn't get hurt. I thought I was protecting you. I pushed Hermione into promising me that she wouldn't say anything." Harry shook his head in confusion.

"I don't understand, why would this hurt me?"

"Because you would have lost your best friend," Mrs. Weasley said, her tone clearly saying that she thought him dense. Harry blinked, feeling rather stupid.

"Why would I have lost my best friend?"

"Well, if Hermione had told you she loved you and you didn't feel the same way, it would affect your friendship. I didn't—"

"Hermione what?" Harry asked, his back stiffening, ignoring the sudden ache in his chest. He had heard her wrong. That was the only explanation. The only one. There was no way that Hermione made a stupid promise to not tell him that she had feelings for him…the entire thing was ludicrous. Hermione love _him_? That wasn't possible.

He would have noticed. He would have been able to tell. If she loved him, she wouldn't have said that she only needed him to pretend to be her boyfriend, and then humiliate him in front of everyone. No. He had heard Mrs. Weasley wrong. There was no way Hermione loved him…

"It was obvious, I don't know why it took me so long to see it. After all, the two of you were always so close. I think it was only natural for the love you felt for each other to turn into a romantic love—"

"I don't love Hermione that way, Mrs. Weasley," Harry interrupted, his voice hard. "And she certainly doesn't love me that way, either. You are mistaken."

"Harry dear—"

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, for everything you've done for me. Thank you for taking me in, for treating me so well, for caring so much about my wellbeing. But please, _please_, stop meddling in my life. I don't need you to protect me. I've been taking care of myself for twenty-three years. I think I'm fairly good at it by now." He stood up, trying to ignore the look on Mrs. Weasley's face—the hurt he saw there. He realized he was being cruel, but he couldn't believe the matriarch would meddle so much in his life. She had no right.

Of course, his thoughts from earlier, about how she took him in as a son, resurfaced, and he was filled with guilt. With a small smile, he took another piece of toast, piled bacon on top of it, and took a large bite.

"Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Weasley," he said after he swallowed, hoping she'd see this as the apology it was. "Am I still welcome anytime?" Molly Weasley stood up and she hugged him—one of her famous, bone-crushing hugs.

"Of course, dear. Always."

XXX

In her defense, it had been a combination of sleep deprivation and the sheer intensity of his look that made her jump the way she did when she saw him. She had been working for twelve hours straight—oh, she hated working for the Ministry!—and had finally been allowed to go home in time for breakfast.

But now, she sort of wished she had stayed at work.

Harry was standing by the door, his eyes fixed on her, his entire manner indicating that he was angry. And that was frightening. Harry Potter was a frightening person when angry—that was just a fact. So when she first saw him, she had jumped, frightened by the look on Harry's face.

"We need to talk, Ginny," he bit out, ignoring her flinch. She knew better than to expect anything good, not when he was talking like that. But, despite her hunger, exhaustion, and general reluctance, she nodded, privately thinking that it was best to get this over with.

"Do you want to go inside? It's cold out here," she said, already knowing the answer, but thinking she might as well be polite.

"No."

"All right. What would you like to talk about?"

"Hermione." Ginny's eyes widened, and she gave him a curious look. She had no idea what he could possibly want to say to her about Hermione. She was sure he was here to tell her off for her behavior the other night. Or perhaps even tell her that he'd seen her latest work—she did research in the Department of Mysteries, and her articles were sometimes published—and had hated it. She did not expect to hear about Hermione. "I heard what you told her. That night we were here." He paused and looked at her carefully, shaking his head in disappointment. "I expected more from you, Ginny. I never thought you'd be so cruel. Especially not to a friend." What hurt the most weren't the words, it was the tone. It was the calm displeasure that cut her to the core.

"Harry—"

"You must know—it must be obvious by now—that you and I will never work, right Ginny?"

She knew better than to respond. Instead, she thought back to what she had told Hermione that night right here at the Burrow, and she blushed, feeling slightly ashamed of her actions. This entire time, she had thought that she had to win Harry back, that it was some sort of contest. Her life was relatively empty—without Fred, it always seemed like something was missing, some sort of puzzle piece misplaced—and so she fell back onto what she knew: chasing after Harry like he was some sort of prize to be won. She just hadn't realized that she had lost a long time ago to a girl with bushy brown hair, and a loyalty unmatched by anyone else.

So she watched Harry leave without saying a word, and it was only when he was gone—just a loud crack indicating he'd ever been there—that she let her shoulders sag. "I'm so sorry, Hermione," she said softly, wondering if she'd ever have the courage to say it to Hermione's face.

Ginny stood out in the cold for well over a minute, but she realized that she was a Gryffindor for a reason. She'd apologize to her friend the first chance she got.

XXX

Harry wasn't quite sure what he was doing here.

"Harry, what exactly am I doing here?" He looked over at Luna, finding it humorous that she'd voiced his thoughts so easily. Smiling slightly at her, he shrugged.

"I needed support."

"I'm not the best at that, actually," she said lightly, tilting her head to one side as she studied the building in front of them. "Are you sure about this? I mean, I don't think Mr. Granger intended for you to do _this_ after he talked to you." Harry let out a soft chuckle and nodded.

"No, he probably didn't. But this is right. I can feel it."

"Of course. Are you going to talk to Hermione?"

"Luna," Harry said warningly, but Luna pretended she couldn't hear him.

"She's been to your flat, to the Burrow, to Grimmauld Place, to Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, the Leaky Cauldron—anywhere she could think of, really."

"Well, that's fine. While she's looking for me, I can get this done and then use it as an excuse to stay away from her," Harry said, his voice carrying a tint of bitterness.

He wasn't happy about what he had learned at the Burrow, about how three people he trusted had gone behind his back and done something so incredibly stupid…Harry shook his head, trying to rid himself of his thoughts. He wasn't going to dwell on what Mrs. Weasley told him. He wasn't.

He had no reason to think about it so much. None at all.

"Do you really want to stay away from her, though?" Luna asked, a smile on her face, her eyes boring into his. He suddenly had the odd feeling that she was looking deep into his soul, as if trying to see if he was being honest or not. Trying to be as subtle as possible, Harry looked away from her, having no desire to have her read him.

After leaving the Burrow, Harry had sent his Patronus to Luna, telling her to meet him in front of St. Mungo's. Though he hadn't specifically requested it, he was glad when she came alone, because it made everything far simpler. There would be no questions and confusion—Luna would go along with what he wanted, and be there to give him support if he found he needed it.

He hadn't really expected her to bring up Hermione, however.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Harry said, still looking anywhere but at her.

"Oh really? That's such a surprise," Luna said, sounding incredibly sarcastic, something that nearly made Harry laugh. He hadn't known Luna even knew how to be sarcastic.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. Help me with what I need to do, and afterwards I'll tell you everything."

"I already know everything. Mrs. Weasley sent Ron and I an owl. We know you talked to her, that you know about the promise Hermione made, that she lo—"

"Stop!" Harry interrupted, unwilling to hear that word. "If you know everything, then surely you don't need me to tell you anything, right?" Luna stared at him for a moment, and then she pointed at the building in front of them.

"Why are we at St. Mungo's, Harry?" she asked, looking for clarification for something she probably already knew the answer to. Harry grinned slightly. After the War, he had spent any free time he had devoted to learning about blood replenishing potions, Healing spells, salves that helped burns, and techniques that could help someone who had been hit with the torture curse. And now, he was going to put all that knowledge to use.

It had been Mr. Granger who gave him the idea, and since it occurred to him, it was all he'd think about. Here was something he could do that would help people, something that would still enable him to be useful. Suddenly, he was filled with desire, with passion, with the urge to go after something.

And it was exciting.

Harry looked at Luna, still grinning. "I'm going to apply to start my training as a Healer."

XXX

"He told me I have natural talent, Luna. Imagine! _I_ have _natural_ talent!" Harry shook his head, letting out a laugh. When he had first begun the application process, it suddenly seemed as if his hope to be a Healer was going to be crushed. N.E.W.T.s were required, as well as dozens of other criteria that Harry was sure that out of those in his year, only Hermione had bothered to actually go through with. But then, something extraordinary had occurred—something he had never thought he would appreciate.

He had been recognized. And by the man who ran St. Mungo's.

"Shortly after the War," the man had explained, "we were in dire need of Healers, and so we basically let anyone begin their training, no N.E.W.T.s required. And if I could do that for them, I have no issue doing that for you as well." Harry hadn't been too keen about that at first, and when Healer Reynolds had noticed, he decided to give Harry a series of tests—tests that he had passed effortlessly.

After that, it was only a matter of when his training would begin.

"Harry—"

"Can you believe it? I'm starting my training next week! Healer Reynolds said that I might be able to finish it early, too. Who would have thought all that studying after the War would be so useful—"

"Harry!" Luna interrupted suddenly, looking pained. He frowned slightly. "I'm happy for you, I really am. I think this is wonderful, and I know you'll do wonderfully. But, Harry, you _need_ to talk to Hermione." Harry's frown deepened.

"I don't know why you'd think that," he said, opening the door to his flat and motioning for Luna to go in. "Now, what would you like for lunch? I can make—"

"There you go again! Harry, this morning you were told that your best friend loves you. No matter how you feel about that—whether or not you feel the same way—you need to have some sort of reaction. You're acting like nothing happened." Harry felt the same compression in his chest as he had when he was at the Burrow, but he ignored it as best he could.

"Hermione doesn't need or want me around," he said slowly, crossing his arms at his chest.

"There isn't enough vomit in the world to express how I feel about that comment," Luna said, shaking her head. "She's spent so much time convincing herself that it would be completely awful if you ever found out about how she felt that she tried to stop you from finding out by being stupid. She shouldn't have said that, but Harry, she was _afraid_."

"Why would she be afraid?" Harry asked, feeling angry that Luna was standing up for Hermione.

"Because she's convinced that there's no way you feel the same way, and that if you ever found out you'd run for the hills. I always thought she was wrong, but maybe she had a point." Harry's eyes narrowed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. Luna stared unflinchingly at him.

"You're a lot of things. You're impulsive, you think with everything except for your brain, you place a great deal of faith in only a few select people, you don't really talk about how you feel, you—" Harry put his hand up, scowling.

"Whenever you're done listing what I am, would you mind getting to the point?" Luna nodded pleasantly, as if this was a completely normal conversation—as if this was no big deal.

"My point is that you're a lot of things, but it's not like you to run away from something, to hide from it. My point is that you still have walls." Harry stared blankly at her for a moment before he let out a laugh.

"That's not possible. I brought them all down. Anger, guilt, grief, fear—it's all gone."

"But what if there's another one? What if you have another wall?" Harry shook his head, unable to believe that that could be possible.

"Luna," he said quietly, closing his eyes, "I…" he stopped, let out a deep breath, and ran his fingers through his hair. Luna had been frustratingly assertive the past two days, and he was beginning to regret ever asking her for help and support. If he had avoided Luna, he probably could have avoided Hermione easily…Harry shook his head, sighing resignedly. "If I'm gong to bring this wall down, I'm going to need you to stay. Just in case I get hit with a book again." Luna's eyes widened.

"You're going to try?"

"Yeah. I suppose I am."

"I thought I'd need to spend hours convincing you."

"Well, it helps that I'm impulsive and I think with everything but my brain, right?" Luna, of course, just laughed.

XXX

They hadn't passed through security yet, mostly because Emma wanted to spend as much time as she could with their oddly sullen daughter. Then again, Emma also ignored Hermione's protests that she could just use her magic to confuse the guards into letting her pass. Dan had briefly commented on how that was a breach of national security, but both his wife and his daughter had merely given him a look before talking about something else.

He was sure that Emma's adamancy came from her desire to say goodbye to Harry, and her belief that he would arrive at any minute. Of course, he wisely decided to stay silent on the topic of Harry—Hermione already looked as if she was about to cry without the added reminder that her best friend was avoiding her.

Dan nodded to whatever his wife had just said as he considered his last thought. While he hadn't expected Harry to forgive Hermione in a day, he also hadn't thought that the boy would _avoid_ her. A part of him was sure that Harry was milking it for all it was worth, but a much larger part of him thought that Harry was just too scared to confront Hermione.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Emma said, happily. "Right, Daniel?" Dan looked at his wife in shock.

"Er, what?" Emma sighed theatrically, her eyes alight with mirth.

"Hermione wants to start playing piano again. Isn't that wonderful?" Dan blinked, but he nodded quickly.

"Oh, yes, of course. It's excellent, just excellent." Suddenly, Hermione's eyes narrowed and she gave her father a look he recognized—it was the one Emma gave him whenever she could tell he was lying.

"I already know you're upset with me, dad," she said, opting out of subtlety and decorum. He smiled at her.

"I'm not upset. I was, but not anymore."

"Dad—"

"Don't waste time here talking to me. Go find him, Hermione. And when you do, tell him that I said that I haven't forgotten about the wager yet." Hermione looked at him for a moment before she rushed forward and hugged him tightly.

"I have no idea where he is. I've looked everywhere," she whispered in his ear. Dan laughed.

"Well, he eventually has to go back home doesn't he?" Hermione kissed him on the cheek, hugged her mother, and then, before he knew it, she was gone. Emma took his hand gently, and gave him a bright smile.

"You're such a sap," she said, a great deal of fondness in her tone. "It's almost sad to see how much of a romantic you actually are." Daniel laughed again, privately thinking that he was glad Emma didn't know the real reason behind his desire for Harry and Hermione to settle their differences.

In the time he had spent with Harry, he had come to see the young man as more than his daughter's best friend or a potential son-in-law he was supposed to dislike. He saw Harry—cliché though it was—as nothing less than the son he never had. He _wanted_ Harry and Hermione to work out—he wanted them to be happy. But more than that, he wanted Harry to stick around. Because as fun as messing with the boy's head been for the past two weeks, Daniel knew it would be a hundred times _more_ fun when the relationship was actually real.

Dan chuckled again, and kissed his wife. "What can I say, I have a big heart," he said, shrugging slightly.

XXX

Harry had his eyes closed, feeling incredibly stupid.

He told Luna to stay outside of his room, and in order to ensure that she didn't see him at his most vulnerable, he had also closed the door. He hadn't locked it—he wasn't _that_ stupid, and he learned from past mistakes, thank you very much—though, he was beginning to wonder if he'd been a fool to listen to Luna. He was beginning to think this was just a big waste of time, and there was no wall to bring down.

Harry leaned his head back into his pillow, lying comfortably on his bed. For the strangest reason, despite staring at a ceiling that was incredibly familiar—a ceiling he stared at night after night for years—he felt as if he was intruding. It didn't _feel_ like his own room, his home.

Then again, he realized, he hadn't exactly thought of anywhere as home since he left Hogwarts. The Burrow was a safe haven, but never a home. As for Grimmauld Place, well, that had only been a home to him as long as Sirius was alive…

Harry sighed and turned on his side, now staring at his blank wall. When he had first found the flat, Hermione had said that it was perfect, but that it needed more bookcases. "We can't have bare walls, can we?" she had said, grinning at him. Instead of buying the bookcases like she suggested, however, he'd spent the rest of the week completely sloshed. She never mentioned the idea again.

Without knowing exactly why, he began to chuckle lightly. He wondered if it was a theme in his life, this habit of men disappointing their loved ones. According to the stories, James Potter frequently disappointed Lily Evans with his pranks and awful behavior. It was a wonder she ever fell in love with him. And then there was Sirius, brave, strong, loving Sirius, who rather than pulling himself together and making sure he could be there for his godson, ran off impulsively in order to exact revenge on a man he once considered a friend. Then again, at least Sirius had done _something_. For all Harry knew, after Voldemort vanished, Remus had gone into hiding—abandoning his best friend's son.

Harry sighed, feeling a familiar surge of anger in his chest. Time and time again, it seemed, the men he looked up to seemed to disappoint. Dumbledore had groomed him to die, Moody had turned out to be an imposter, Arthur never stood up to his wife and tended to let everyone walk all over him, and Hagrid was prone to making enormous mistakes.

Groaning, Harry sat up, his back against the headboard of his bed.

His entire life, he'd been surrounded by people who'd let him down. And despite the promises to himself that he'd never be that kind of person, perhaps he was. After all, hadn't he let Hermione down? He was sure he'd let Teddy down, and he'd even let Mr. and Mrs. Granger down. What made him better than his father, Sirius, or Remus?

Yet, without really knowing why, he felt pain whenever he thought of Sirius sitting in Grimmauld Place with only Kreacher and Buckbeak for company, whenever he thought about how Remus would never see his son get on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. It actually physically hurt him to think about Dumbledore's kind smile and twinkling blue eyes. Harry blinked. What had the Headmaster said back in fifth year? That he felt pain because he was human?

_Then I don't want to be human! _

That was the danger, wasn't it? At the end of the day, it was about keeping yourself guarded so that you didn't feel that pain. Nothing—_nothing_—was more painful than losing someone you care for. He had learned that the hard way, the day that Sirius had fallen through the Veil, when he had lost Dumbledore, and when he saw Remus in the Great Hall, as still as could be. Could anyone really blame him for keeping his distance? Perhaps he was letting the people around him down, but was that really so wrong?

It was safer for him to not care anymore. It was safer to not care about finding a place he could call home, about caring for others, about whether or not he disappointed them. Not caring meant protection; it meant that never again would he reach the point where he'd exclaim that he didn't want to be human.

Yet, despite all his efforts, despite all the walls he'd built up, he _did_ care.

He cared for Luna. He saw her as the sister he never had, as the person who could read him and know that she needed to lighten the mood—needed to make him smile. And there was Ron—who despite being rather infuriating most of the time—was still his best mate. He had come to care deeply for Mr. and Mrs. Granger, two people who had accepted him despite knowing that he was lying to them, and who had done their best to help him.

And he cared for Hermione.

He _hadn't_ lied to Mr. Granger when he said he loved Hermione. He did love her; that was fairly obvious. There was nothing he wasn't willing to do for her, nothing he wouldn't risk. Yet, since the day he met her, back when he was eleven and stupid, it had been a purely platonic sort of love—the kind of love that you felt for your friends, or your siblings. _I think it was only natural for the love you felt for each other to turn into a romantic love…_Mrs. Weasley had said those words just that morning, and others had said it many times before. What if, just what _if_, they were on to something?

Harry closed his eyes, absentmindedly rubbing his chest. It felt warm—not unbearably so—but it was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. He couldn't explain why he felt so shocked that morning when he learned what Hermione had been keeping from him for so long. He wanted to think that it was because she hadn't just told him—that she had kept it a secret—but he knew better.

It was because he was afraid to open up to her; he was afraid of having no protection, of leaving himself vulnerable—of feeling pain.

He took a deep breath, that burning in his chest getting even worse, and he thought about her—truly thought about her—for the first time.

She made him laugh. She made him feel needed. She made him want to be the best he could be. Most of all, she made him feel loved.

_I'll go with you_.

Those four words. Had he realized it then? In the middle of a battle, knowing that he had to walk to his death, did he realize that nothing but the deepest sort of love could have driven her to offer to go with him? Did he realize that—at that moment—the love he felt for her had changed dramatically, going from that of a best friend to something much more? Did he realize he'd been pushing those feelings away for years, along with his fear, his anger, his guilt, and his grief?

Suddenly, he felt as though his chest was on fire, and though it burned, though he could feel the heat, it was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. There was no pain, no shouting out. It felt...welcome, obvious, as if it was always supposed to be there.

It was how he felt when Hermione had embraced him after his nightmare, holding him, reminding him that she was alive. It was how he had felt when he woke up in the mornings and could see Hermione snoring lightly in her bed. It occurred to him that as cliché as it sounded—as stupid as it probably was—_she_ had turned into his home. That was why his flat felt so…empty. Why he felt calmer when surrounded by the Grangers.

Hermione had become his home; she was where he belonged.

_Eventually you'll find where you belong._

Harry actually laughed. Mr. Granger was right. He _had_ found where he belonged. It was because of the War—because of all the blood, all the death—that he had spent so much time learning Healing. It was because he spent so much time learning Healing that St. Mungo's was accepting him to join their staff as a trainee. He laughed again, realizing his experiences, his setbacks, and his heartbreaks _had_ made him who he was—and had led him to this point.

Because it was a troll that made him become friends with Hermione, and it was surviving together throughout the years that made him love her.

Without an ounce of doubt in his mind, Harry embraced the burning in his chest—actually welcomed it—for the first time in his life, letting go of all his walls and protection. Because, honestly, who better to trust with his heart than the girl he had trusted with his life?

Later, when telling Ron about how he broke down the final wall, Harry would embellish the story. He'd talk about his sudden understanding, how everything he'd ever built up over the years shattered with a great burst of magic. He'd talk about how he and Luna spent over an hour trying to fix everything his magic had broken when it finally was freed of its bonds. But the truth was far less exciting. In fact, it was pathetically anticlimactic.

There wasn't a burst of magic, or a sudden moment of enlightenment. After all, this 'moment' had been a long time coming, and the walls around his emotions—and therefore, around his magic—fell as easily as they had gone up: without him noticing. One moment he had a fire in his chest that was becoming unbearable, and the next, he felt comfortable, as if he'd always had it.

Which, in a way, made perfect sense. After all, he'd always loved Hermione.

XXX

Harry pushed passed a couple, knocking them to the ground in his haste.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled, not bothering to even stop and help them up. He didn't have that luxury of time.

When he had finally opened his eyes, feeling incredibly giddy that he had managed to bring down all his walls, he realized that Mr. and Mrs. Granger's flight would be leaving soon. At that moment, a sudden desire to see them erupted within him, and without saying anything to Luna—other than a quick thank you for respecting his privacy—he had Apparated to Heathrow airport.

It had been ridiculously easy to get past security—though he had the brief thought that magic must certainly be a breach of national security—and had weaved his way through the busy airport, looking for the Grangers gate. He was just about to give up, because surely their flight had left by now, when he spotted Mr. Granger's graying hair.

"Mr. Granger! You're still here!" he said, unable to keep his voice low. Daniel Granger turned to him in shock, while his wife looked on in amusement.

"Harry? What're you doing here? How did you get past security?"

"A few Confundus Charms here and there. It was no big deal," he said breathlessly, realizing that he wasn't as fit as he'd been seven years ago, running for his life.

"Why are you here?" Emma Granger asked, and a week ago, he would have thought that she sounded patronizing. Now he realized she was just teasing.

"I came to say goodbye. You know, properly. And to apologize." He stopped, grimaced, and continued. "You know, for, er, lying to you."

"Well, that's sweet," Mrs. Granger said, her brown eyes bright. Without warning, she pulled him into a hug—so _this_ was where Hermione learned her tight embraces from—and then she smiled at him. "I'm sure we have time to chat before we need to board." Harry nodded, but—as if Mrs. Granger's words had been the catalyst—a flight attendant announced that they were boarding the first dozen rows on the flight. Mrs. Granger's smile fell. "That's us, Dan," she said, and Harry was sure he could hear a tint of disappointment in her voice. Mr. Granger nodded and motioned for her to go on without him.

"I'm glad you came to say goodbye," he said when Mrs. Granger was gone. "She would have been upset if she didn't get to see you before we left."

"I didn't know she liked me that much," Harry said, trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably. Mr. Granger, however, cracked a grin.

"So…you're just here to say goodbye, are you?" he asked knowingly. Harry felt his cheeks heat up.

"Honestly? No. I was sure Hermione would be here. I want to talk to her."

"You've forgiven her?"

"I don't know," Harry muttered. "No, I haven't. Not yet anyway."

"Oh, so you _will_ forgive her."

"Of course."

"She doesn't know that. She seems to think she's ruined her friendship with you."

"I was sure that she had as well."

"And what changed?" Mr. Granger asked, looking far too smug for Harry's liking.

"I love your daughter, Mr. Granger. And you don't stay angry with the people you love. No matter how much you'd like to." Surprisingly, Mr. Granger held out his hand, and Harry took it without hesitation.

"Don't you dare hurt my daughter, Harry Potter," he said slowly. Harry nodded immediately.

"Of course not—" he began, but he was shocked into silence when Mr. Granger hugged him—a hug that reminded him _so_ much of the hugs Sirius gave him, of a hug a father would give his son.

"I'm glad you've found where you belong," Mr. Granger said softly as he let Harry go. Harry frowned.

"How did you—"

"Know? Have you looked in the mirror, Harry? You _look_ different." Mr. Granger grinned slightly. "She's been looking for you all day, you know."

"Yeah, Luna told me as much."

"I said that you eventually have to go home. She's probably there by now."

"When did she leave?"

"About an hour ago. What?" Mr. Granger asked when Harry gave him a look. "She had to _drive_ us non-magic folk here, and she had to _drive_ back home." Harry opened his mouth, realizing he had so much more to say. He wanted to thank the older man, to sit down and just talk, but he knew he couldn't. The flight attendant was looking impatient as she called for everyone else left to board. Mr. Granger picked up his carry-on and grinned at Harry. "Good luck," he said, giving Harry a wave.

Harry just laughed, already looking forward to the next time Mr. and Mrs. Granger visited.

XXX

She felt stupid, and it wasn't something she was used to.

This sort of thing wasn't her forte. She wasn't good at conveying her feelings, at putting herself out there, at _apologizing_. But she had to do all that and more, because she refused—absolutely _refused_—to lose Harry.

When the door opened, she stood abruptly, shocked. She had asked Luna to leave a while ago, promising she'd 'dish out the details' in the morning, but she honestly wasn't expecting Harry to return home so soon. She thought she'd have at least a few hours to prepare what she wanted to say.

"Hermione," Harry greeted when he saw her, not looking surprised in the least. "Did Luna let you in or did you break in?" She blinked at the civility in his tone, but otherwise took it in stride. Perhaps this was like the summer after fourth year, when he kept everything bottled up until it burst out of him.

"Luna let me in. I…She…She knows I wanted to talk to you." Harry tilted his head to one side as he studied her. Then, with a wave of his wand, two bottles of butterbeer floated out of his kitchen and hovered in front of them. He took one and motioned for her to take the other.

"All right, then, Hermione," he said softly. "Let's talk. How about we start with your dreams?" Hermione's eyes widened, realizing there was nothing to explain. He already knew everything.

"My dreams?"

"Why didn't you tell me about them? I thought we told each other everything." Several things came to mind—several retorts—but she bit them back. She was here to apologize, not to make everything worse.

"You were already so guilty over what happened, I didn't want to add on to it. It just…it seemed the right thing to do at the time." Harry just stared at her, and for once, she couldn't read him. He was actively hiding what he was feeling, and merely the thought nearly brought tears to her eyes.

"Why did you believe Ginny when she said that I was going to try again with her once I 'felt better?'" Hermione blushed.

"I didn't."

"But you agreed to that stupid pact." Finally, Hermione's guilt over what happened the other night was pushed away by her irritation at the way Harry was treating her now. Her back straightened, and she glared at him.

"I'm sorry for what happened for the other night, Harry. I said something _awful_ because I was afraid of you finding out how I feel. But don't you dare for one second think that everything I've done for the past two years wasn't solely for you." She took a step closer to him, ignoring the butterbeer that trailed after her, still floating in the air. "I made a pact with Ginny and Molly swearing that I would keep quiet about what I felt for you. And if I had to go back, I'd do the same all over again."

"Why? What did you possibly achieve—"

"Because you needed time to heal! Ginny was angry with me—with the world. She felt…I don't know what she felt. But her way of feeling better, of getting back at me, was to go after you. And I knew that you didn't need that. I thought keeping quiet was a small price to pay if it meant you were left alone."

"But Hermione, you have to see that that's absolutely ridiculous," Harry said, running his fingers through his hair.

"Ridiculous or not, it worked. Ginny and Molly left you alone." He said nothing for a moment, but then he took a step closer to her.

"What were you afraid of me finding out?" he asked. Hermione stared at him, her anger from less than a minute ago fueling her courage. She took a deep breath.

"You know, whenever you called me your best friend, people would always look surprised. As if it was utterly impossible for the bushy-haired, bossy, know-it-all to be friends with Harry Potter." Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but Hermione shook her head, unable to stop now that she had started. "I'm already incredibly insecure. I know that I'm not what people expect when you call me your best friend. They expect someone pretty and charming, a girl who has a bright smile. I'm not like that. I have opinions, I don't like smiling at people I don't know, I'm stubborn, and once you get an idea into my head, it's hard for me to get rid of it." She paused and took a deep breath. "You can only be told you're not good enough for someone so many times before you start to believe it yourself." She took a step closer to him, realizing with a jolt that they were only inches apart.

"Hermione—"

"I was terrified. I was terrified that if I told you the truth, you'd want nothing to do with me. I was scared that if I told you how much I needed you, you'd just tell me that _I_ wasn't needed."

"So like what you said to me?" Harry asked, causing Hermione to flinch. She bit her lip, stared at him for a moment, and then decided words just weren't going to work. So, throwing all caution to the wind—and acting nothing like herself—she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

Harry, however, didn't move.

She pulled away quickly, snatching the butterbeer that was now tapping her on the shoulder out of the air. She glared at it for a moment before turning back to Harry, and she shrugged apologetically.

"I…I botched up. I did. I was being stupid and I'll understand if you'll never forgive me for it." She pursed her lips, suddenly realizing how awkward this was. "Or for what I just did. That was unforgivable as well. I seem to keep doing the wrong thing. Maybe it's best if you stayed away from me. Obviously, I'm—"

"Hermione?" Harry interrupted, looking at a spot behind her head. She wondered if she'd lost him forever. After all, he couldn't even look her in the eye… "What did the dreams make you realize?" Hermione's mouth fell open, unable to breathe.

"You've already made your point, Harry, you don't need to actually _say_ that you don't feel the same way—"

"Will you just answer?" he said impatiently, still not looking at her. Hermione frowned, suddenly quite suspicious of the way he avoided her eyes, though she still felt as if she couldn't breathe.

"The dreams…" she began slowly, "the dreams made me realize I saw you more than a friend. I realized that I had…that I had fallen in love with you." An incredibly awkward silence followed her words, but then Harry turned to her, a sad smile on his face.

"I see."

"We can still be friends, right?" Hermione asked quickly, willing to push away all romantic feelings for him in order to keep their friendship. Harry shook his head slowly.

"I don't want to be friends," he said, reaching out and taking her hand. "While I'm not too happy with you because of what happened the other night, I'm also incredibly happy because the last of my walls came down today. And I can't be unhappy and happy with you at the same time. So, no, Hermione. I don't want to be friends. I want to be _more_ than friends." Hermione blinked.

"_Merlin_. You could have started with that," she said breathlessly. But he didn't let her say anything else. Harry leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her against him. For the first time in a while, she could instinctively read him. It was why she didn't need to ask what the final wall was. Instead, she just smiled against his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck.

And like he said, he hadn't forgiven her for what she had said the other night—nor had she expected him to, especially not so soon—but they'd get there.

Together.

_Ahh, that was one LONG chapter. Initially, I was going to split it about halfway through and post two parts, but then I got lazy and thought you guys wouldn't mind one super long chapter. _

_So a few comments. One, this is not the last chapter. I have an epilogue! It's mostly written already, so that should be up soonish._

_Two, I chose love as the final wall, and that may be confusing to some people. But I chose the emotions very carefully—it took me ages to decide which ones I wanted to work with. There are different kinds of traumas, but at the end of the day, the emotions involved are all basically the same for everyone. You feel angry that it's happened to you, fear it happening it again, are filled with grief for the things—or people—you've lost, and are guilty about how everything turned out. Love, however, is the ability to move beyond all that. Love is moving on—moving forward. It's learning to accept and push away the fear, anger, guilt, and grief. Love is part of the healing process._

_Of course, that's just my opinion, based on my own experiences. If anyone disagrees, please, let me know. _

_Finally, I was left a review that stated that this story is too dramatic (I agree) and that the British are cynical and detached (what?) not mushy and dramatic. If you have an issue with the story, that's fine, I want to know. But I really don't need to read stereotypical comments. Because seriously? Cynical and detached? I mean, really? Those kinds of comments don't belong here. _

_Anyway, I really hope you liked this chapter, and that it didn't disappoint. It was incredibly difficult to write. Thanks to Kage640 for being my 200__th__ reviewer (I'm sorry it was difficult to follow…) and to Edmond O'Donald for being my 100__th__ reviewer (That was such a nice review, thank you so much!). Also, a special shout out to Zweley whose reviews have made me laugh every time I see them, and to NAJ P. Jackson, who leaves such wonderful in-depth comments. _

_Everyone who reads, reviews, favorites, and/or follows this story is amazing! I really, really hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you think!_


	16. Epilogue

Chapter Sixteen- Epilogue

"You know, Harry, I think I owe you and Ronald thanks." Harry frowned and looked up from the chess game, raising an eyebrow. Hermione and her mother were playing a duet on the piano, laughing about something while Ron and Luna watched happily. Mr. Granger, however, was staring intently at the chessboard, a frown on his face. For a moment, Harry wondered if this was a ploy to distract him so Mr. Granger would win the game.

"I'm sorry?" he said, when it looked like Mr. Granger wasn't going to say anymore. The older man nodded sharply, but he didn't look up from the chessboard.

"A thanks. I owe you and Ronald a thank you."

"Er, really? Why?" Harry asked curiously, though he was also slightly nervous. Mr. Granger hated Ron, so whatever he was talking about, it couldn't be good. Usually, he only mentioned how much he wished Ron would move to another country...From across the room, Hermione let out another laugh—something that normally Harry would have taken notice of—but he was too distracted to pay any attention to his girlfriend of over a year.

"Well, you and Ronald were quite possibly the best friends Hermione could have growing up." Harry sighed in relief and then grinned.

"Thanks, Mr. Granger," he said, turning back to the game. He looked up again when Mr. Granger just chuckled.

"Oh, you poor, sad boy. You think it was a compliment."

"It wasn't?"

"Of course not! I'm just glad you two were her friends and not two other blokes. Or, God forbid, Ginny Weasley." Harry frowned.

"I'm confused, Mr. Granger," he said slowly. Mr. Granger looked up from the game for the first time, his blue eyes full of mirth—and also this frightening glint that Harry couldn't understand.

"Just a quick question: are all 'wizards' as hopeless as you and Ronald, or is it just you two?" Harry stared at Mr. Granger for a moment and then shook his head.

"I'm sorry, I'm still not getting it," he finally said, wishing Mr. Granger would just get to the point like he usually did.

"Hopeless. You know, with girls." Harry's mouth fell open.

"I am _not_ hopeless with girls."

"No, no, I think you are."

"Fine, give one example," Harry challenged. Mr. Granger rolled his eyes.

"There was that one girl Hermione told me about, the one you made cry under the mistletoe." Harry's eyes widened in shock, surprised that Hermione would spread such lies about him.

"_I_ didn't make her cry. She was upset over…over other…things."

"I hear that on the _one_ date you went on with her, she ended up crying again and running out on you."

"Only because I said I had to meet up with Hermione!"

"Son, I think I've made my point. You are _hopeless_ with girls."

"Yeah, well, Ron is worse!" Harry said childishly, trying and failing miserably to restore his honor. Mr. Granger chuckled.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Ronald wasn't as hopeless as you."

"You're joking, right? Ron was much worse than I ever was," Harry protested. Mr. Granger shook his head.

"Ronald realized he had feelings for Hermione _and_ acted on them. More than I can say for you."

"Yeah, and Ron dated Hermione for a few weeks before they broke up because he fell in love with Luna. I have a whole year," Harry shot back, feeling incredibly proud of himself. Mr. Granger raised an eyebrow.

"May I remind you that the only reason you even realized you had feelings for my daughter was because of her stupid plan to lie to me and Emma?" He shook his head sadly. "And the only reason you acted on them was because _I_ pushed you to?"

"That is _not_ how it happened. You should get your memory checked, Mr. Granger," Harry said, somewhat loftily.

"Oh, really? Then pray tell, how _did_ it happen?"

"Hermione told a stupid lie, I gallantly agreed to help her—pushing my own feelings for her away because I'm ridiculously noble and all that mattered to me was her happiness—and when the truth came out, I swept her off her feet." For a moment, neither one of them said anything, but then Mr. Granger shook his head, grinning appreciatively.

"I can't believe you managed to get through that entire sentence with a straight face," he said, his grin widening. Harry shrugged.

"Every word is true," he said, nearly laughing when Mr. Granger just rolled his eyes.

"It still somewhat baffles me that she _actually_ does seem to have genuine feelings for you," he said slowly, shaking his head. At his words, Harry turned to look at Hermione and smiled. It baffled him every now and then, too. Not that he'd ever admit that to Mr. Granger, of course.

"Of course she has feelings for me," Harry said proudly. "I swept her off her feet, remember?" Mr. Granger stared at him for a moment and then shook his head.

"If you win this game, I'll admit you're not hopeless with girls. If _I_ win this game, you have to admit that I'm right, that you were the best friend she could have had _because_ you're so hopeless." Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Fine. It's your turn, Mr. Granger." They both turned back to the chessboard, and—unnoticed by Harry—a grin began to form on Mr. Granger's face.

"You know, Harry, I'm glad she chose you and not that Bulgarian boy she's so infatuated with. The one who's a famous athlete." Harry's head shot up, and he stared at his potentially _real_ father-in-law—provided Hermione said yes, that is—in shock.

"What? Do you know something? She doesn't still write Krum, does she?" Mr. Granger raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, do you know anything? You're sort of obligated to tell me if you know anything. I mean, you're glad I was her friend in school and everything. You'd have to tell me, right? You wouldn't keep something like this—" Mr. Granger interrupted him with his boisterous laughter.

"Checkmate, son!" Harry looked down at the chessboard, shocked. He'd been winning, this made no sense…

"You cheated!" Harry said, glaring at Mr. Granger.

"A bet is a bet. Admit that you're hopeless." Harry stared mutinously at Mr. Granger for a moment, and then he rolled his eyes.

"Alright, _fine_. I was a father's dream. Too thick to realize I had feelings for his daughter, and so close to her that other blokes tended to stay away," Harry said tonelessly. Mr. Granger grinned, nodding brightly.

"That's all I needed to hear."

"You know, Mr. Granger, if I didn't know any better, I'd assume you were ten years old," Harry muttered, though it was loud enough for everyone to hear. From across the room, Emma Granger laughed.

"Oh, silly Harry, you're giving him _far_ too much credit. Daniel is barely five years old." Everyone laughed at that, though Ron stopped immediately when Mr. Granger shot him a nasty glare. Despite _many_ years passing since Ron and Hermione had broken up, it seemed as if Mr. Granger still had no desire to forgive the redhead.

Of course, Mr. Granger _had_ forgiven Ron just enough to attend the wedding next week. It was why the elder Grangers were even visiting. It was hard to believe so much time had passed since they had last been in this house.

It had been more than a year since Harry had learned about the pact between Hermione and the Weasley women, more than a year since he had pretended to be Hermione's boyfriend in order to fool her parents into leaving her alone, and more than a year that he had broken down the last of his walls.

Of course, the last year hadn't been exactly easy. Only a week after the elder Grangers departure, it seemed that he and Hermione weren't going to work out after all. He was still infuriated over her comments about not needing him, and she was frustrated with him, unable to make him see that she was sorry. It suddenly seemed that they had made an enormous mistake of not hashing everything out _before_ they began their relationship.

Even now, he wasn't sure what had happened that drastically changed everything—that turned a relationship full of fights into one with its occasional 'heated debate,' as Hermione liked to call their arguments. Perhaps it was the fact that Ron happily pushed his and Luna's wedding back several months, telling her to take all the time she needed to find the creatures so important to her. Perhaps it was the fact that one afternoon Teddy sat down with Harry, looked at him seriously for a moment before stating rather plainly that it wasn't nice to be angry with someone for so long. Perhaps it was because, on some level, it occurred to Harry that something said in the heat of the moment—said without the intent to hurt—just didn't quite matter in the long run.

Of course, Harry was inclined to believe that it was just Hermione herself.

Not that Hermione ever actually _said_ she was sorry. There was a part of him that was quite sure that it physically hurt Hermione to admit that she was wrong, and he had never really expected an apology from her. And of course, they had begun to spend very little time together—Harry kept himself holed up in his flat, studying as part of his training as a Healer, and he was quite sure that Hermione practically lived at the Ministry. That was why, almost a month after the elder Grangers had left, he had been shocked when one afternoon Hermione showed up at St. Mungo's, claiming that she wanted to have lunch with him.

After their relatively silent meal, Hermione had pulled out a book from her bag, and tentatively pushed it towards him, pursing her lips when he asked her what it was.

"I finished it a few months ago, but I didn't know if I should give it to you." When he had looked at her quizzically, a small—and sad—smile appeared on her face. "Just read it," she had said cryptically. And he had. That night, sitting in his flat, tired of all the potions and spells he had to memorize, he pulled out the book Hermione had given to him—briefly wondering just _how_ many books she had given him throughout the years—and turned to the first page, his eyes widening with each word he read.

Even now, a year later, he still had the entire first page—the introduction to the book she had been writing for years—memorized, knowing that he wouldn't be able to forget it even if he had any desire to do so. It had taken less than three hundred words, written long before his walls came down, for him to realize that it was time to start fresh—to let go of the past, move forward, and to learn how to heal.

And as Mr. Granger laughed and turned to his wife to ask how old she considered _herself _since she had been the one who tried to set Abigail Lenard's house on fire (a comment that made Mrs. Granger turn bright red), Harry turned to Hermione and grinned, fingering the box in his pocket, thinking about a wager he had made over a year ago. A wager, he realized, he was glad to have lost. In the end, his relationship with Hermione wasn't perfect. Yet, it felt right.

XXX

_By now, it is common knowledge that Harry had two close friends: The 'Golden Trio,' we're called in the papers, as if that has any meaning at all. It oversimplifies what Harry means to Ron and I, what we mean to Harry. It makes it sound like our relationship is definable, quantifiable—understandable. But our friendship is abstract—you can't touch it, count it, or even understand it. And the three of us like it that way. _

_The first thing that must be understood before reading this book is that it's not about Harry Potter. It's not about the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, or even the Man-Who-Won—or whatever other ridiculous thing the press has called Harry over the years. This isn't about Harry Potter the hero-it's not about how Harry was able to shoulder incredible responsibility and managed to turn into a hero. This book is about Harry, the boy with the taped up glasses and worn trainers. Therefore, I will not spend my time trying to make Harry sound perfect, to rid him of all fault. That's not the Harry I know, and I feel as if it would be a disservice to him to paint him in that light. My Harry is moody and holds grudges; he is impulsive, reckless, and doesn't like to show what he's feeling. _

_I'll not write about the Harry that everyone reads about in articles and biographies—the noble, honorable hero (Though he's all that and more). Instead, this book will be about Harry—just Harry. It's about the imperfect boy who became my best friend, and grew up to be the imperfect man I've come to love. _

_Hermione J. Granger _

**Hello everyone!**

**So obviously, nothing really happened in the epilogue. I just had a few loose ends I needed to tie up. **

**A couple of things: **

**To raveman2: Thanks for your review! I had actually thought about denial being the last wall. It would have made sense, especially—as you said—all the other walls were negative emotions. The reason I went with love, however, is because I wanted the last wall to be a positive emotion. I wanted it to be a huge contrast between what was brought down before. **

**To bloodsox88: Thanks for reviewing! I'll admit, though, that line is not mine. I've heard it somewhere else. English professors tell you that that's okay, you know, eavesdropping on people and 'stealing' what they say, but it is kind of creepy. I'm pretty sure I've done it before. I've used the Lizzie Bennet Diaries as a huge inspiration for a lot of things that Luna's said. **

**To teachergirl: It was not my intention to make Hermione unlikable. I tried to portray her as an imperfect person who has to deal with demons similar to Harry's. She's in need of healing—of breaking down her metaphorical walls—just as Harry has to break down his very real ones. Harry is pretty much a jerk to her throughout the sixth book, but she sticks with him. I'd assume that's why he'd stick with her no matter how bad it gets. It's a loyalty thing—true friendship and all that jazz. Of course, there is a very good possibility that I failed miserably in my characterization of Hermione. I will look into this and see if I can fix it. Thanks for pointing it out!**

**To Zweley: I think I'm going to miss your reviews! Although, you're probably relieved. I won't be updating while you're in class anymore! Thanks for reading, and for making me feel like a decent enough writer. **

**To Amanz: Oh, that's so kind! Thank you for deciding to read it! I'm really glad you've liked this story.**

**To Cristinazd5: I'm really glad you and your sister like this story. Your review made me exceedingly happy, you just have no idea. Thank you! **

**I just wanted to thank you all—everyone who reads this, who left me a review, who thought it was good enough to put on your favorites list—so very much. I didn't think that anyone would like this, I really didn't. So thank you all so very much! **

**I really hope you all enjoyed this final chapter. **


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